





-Tm 



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sagebrush 




CI IAKLSS J- STEED 







Class F %£~2- 

Book , 58 

GopyrightN? 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




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LU 



Bucking the Sagebrush 



or 



The Oregon Trail in the 
Seventies 

By 

Charles J. Steedman 

Illustrated by 
Charles M. Russell 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 
New York and London 
Zbc Ucntckerbocker iprees 

1904 



•58 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


Twc Copies Received 


NOV 14 1904 


Copynent tntry 

CLASS Ji XXc. No; 

1 01 (*1-& 
COPY B. 

1 i 



Copyright, 1904 

BY 

CHARLES J. STEEDMAN 



Published, November. 1004 



Ubc ftntcherbocber prew, Wcw 12orK 



PREFACE 

THE following account of my experiences 
during my first trip over the Oregon 
trail, taken from a diary that I kept at the 
time and letters which I wrote home, I have 
written for a dear little friend, my son, so that 
if he lives to reach man's estate he may know 
something of his father's early life. Every in- 
cident actually occurred, and I have recorded 
nothing from hearsay. I do not claim accuracy 
in the distances given, as I had no way of 
measuring them except by rule of thumb. 

The wonderful changes that have taken 
place in the Northwest during the past quarter 
of a century can hardly be appreciated by the 
best informed of the "stay-at-home" public. 
If the reader will turn to a map and note 
the several great trans-continental lines and 
their branches which bring that section almost 
to his door, he may be surprised to learn that 
in 1878 only thirty miles of railroad then ex- 
isted — from Wallula to Walla in Washington. 

Herds of cattle numbering many thousand 



iv Preface 

heads could be driven a thousand miles, practi- 
cally in a straight line, without meeting an ob- 
stacle in the shape of a fence to bar their way, 
and they subsisted for months on prairie grass 
alone. Every pound of food was hauled in 
wagons, for there were only a few points be- 
tween the Blue Mountains of Oregon and the 
North Platte, in Wyoming, where a sack of 
flour or a side of bacon could be bought. 
Likewise, it was not uncommon to travel two 
or three weeks without seeing a human being 
other than your own outfit. 

As to the truth of my statements about the 
Mormons, I will simply say that now it is a 
matter of history. 

Possibly, I may have thrown a side-light on 
the cow-puncher, as I know him. To me he 
sizes up as other " humans," good, bad, and 
indifferent. He has one characteristic, how- 
ever, which is most prominent — the fear of 
ridicule. To have his neck broken by a horse 
is awkward, to get shot is unfortunate ; but to 
appear ridiculous — that breaks his heart. Hav- 
ing a fellow-feeling in this respect and know- 
ing that prefaces are apt to be wearisome, I 
will rope and tie this one. 

I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to 
my friend, Mr. Charles M. Russell, for the ad- 



Preface v 

mirable illustrations which he has prepared for 
this book. For permission to use certain smaller 
drawings by Mr. Russell my thanks are due to 
Mr. Wallace David Coburn, the author of that 
volume of spirited Western verse, Rhymes 
from a Round-up Camp. 

C. J. S. 




^ 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — A Tenderfoot's Trials i 

II. — In Mormon Land io 

III. — Off to Oregon 28 

IV. — Our Troubles Begin .... 39 

V. — Buying Horses from Poor Lo . 51 

VI. — More Tribulations .... 64 

VII. — We Leave Walla-Walla . . 71 

VIII. — Receiving the Cattle 83 

IX. — Handling a Trail Herd . . . 100 

X. — Crossing the Blue Mountains . .115 

XL — More Indian Scares . . . .129 

XII. — Death ....... 142 

XIII. — Swimming Snake River . . . 153 

XIV. — A Taste of Hardship .... 165 

XV. — Skirting the Lava Beds . . . 177 

XVI. — Swimming Snake River . . . 191 

XVII. — A Little Flyer in Love . . . 207 

XVIII. — Cowboy Fun and its Usual Sequel . 221 

XIX. — A Wild Night 231 

XX. — Some Joys of the Trail . . . 248 

XXI. — Counting the Cost .... 260 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Pointing out the Trail . . Frontispiece 

One Year on a Ranch, '76 

Testing the Horse Market 

A Strenuous Matinee 

Holding 'em up 

My Horse " Goalie " 

Signs of Indians 

Blanco .... 

" Sta-y with him, Blanco" 

Broke Loose and Coming your Way 

The Disappointment of a Lifetime 

The Author in '78 

Sketch Map Showing the Route Taken from 
Scott's Bridge, Oregon, to Laramie, 
Wyoming 



PAGE 

6 

56 

58 

62 

132 

134 
216 
218 

234 
264 

266 

270 



BUCKING THE SAGEBRUSH 



CHAPTER I 
A TENDERFOOT'S TRIALS 

MY forefathers, I am convinced, must have 
been rovers by nature. I am led to be- 
lieve this not only because they do not seem 
to have possessed ancestral halls and gardens 
on land that eventually became business cen- 
tres in large cities and valuable for corner lots, 
but from an inherent restlessness and insati- 
able desire that I have for exploring new 
fields. 

At the close of my school-days, I entered a 
real-estate office in Boston, where I acquired 
a pronounced dislike for all office work, to- 
gether with a proneness to attacks of indiges- 
tion. However, after two discontented years 
there, my chance came, and in 1876 I left my 



2 Bucking the Sagebrush 

position, which was paying me $5 a week, and 
against the advice of my family accepted a 
" board-and-clothes " proposition on a sheep 
ranch in Wyoming. 

With my new employer I gladly left Boston 
in March of that same year, my mind filled 
with visions of all sorts of adventures, and the 
rapturous thought that I should soon be career- 
ing across the open prairie on a wild mustang, 
clad in buckskin, with rifle and pistol, spurs 
and sombrero. 

My contract was for a year, and stipulated 
that in return for my work I was to receive 
board and lodging ; whatever knowledge of 
the business I could acquire in that time was 
gratis. 

I served out my apprenticeship and six 
months more, which, in my opinion, was prob- 
ably the best thing that could have happened 
to me. I was far from strong physically when 
I arrived ; the experience was likewise a hard 
one : but before I left I could eat anything 
that was rilling, with or without salt ; could go 
indefinitely without a bath, and knew what it 
meant to work from daylight to dark, six days 
in the week and half a day on Sunday. 

Instead of riding mustangs, firing six-shoot- 
ers and rifles as in my dreams, I was put to 



A Tenderfoot's Trials 3 

work digging post-holes, shovelling sand and 
hay, and for excitement clipping sheep. Dur- 
ing the time for rest I had to saw wood, or a 
course of cooking was thrown in. I shall never 
forget the first load of sand that I shovelled. 
I was so completely exhausted before I got 
through that I had to lean against the wagon 
wheel to prevent falling. 

The altitude of the ranch was seventy-six 
hundred feet, — about a thousand feet higher 
than Mt. Washington, — and that atmosphere 
was so rarefied that if the guileless tenderfoot 
attempted the slightest extra exertion he would 
find the wind completely knocked out of him. 

After the first month or so my appetite grew 
to such proportions that I never seemed able 
to get filled up. On Sunday I would read the 
recipes in a cook-book and try to imagine how 
the various dishes would taste. 

The ranch belonged to Sargent and Homer, 
both Eastern men, and was situated about 
eight miles from Laramie City, Wyoming 
Territory, on the line of the Union Pacific 
Railroad. Besides the owners, there were a 
young man named Balch, who, like myself, 
was learning the business, and two or three 
sheep-herders. The two bosses took their 
time at cooking, assisted by Balch and myself. 



4 Bucking the Sagebrush 

We worked in teams, and most of the sum- 
mer was occupied in making hay and hauling 
fence rails and firewood from the mountains. 
In the spring we had the sheep to shear and 
dip, while in the winter we baled the hay and 
hauled it to a place called Tie Siding, a short 
distance from the highest point reached by 
the railroad and with an altitude of about 8000 
feet. It was there sold to the contractors who 
supplied ties to the railroad company. The 
routine of our work was unchanged for months 
at a time ; one crew baled hay and did the 
chores for a week while the other hauled, and 
so on, turn and turn about. 

We usually had our breakfast at 4.30 a.m., 
for in order to make the round trip — 25 to 30 
miles, with one way all up-hill — it was necessary 
to make an early start. 

Delays were frequently caused by our get- 
ting stuck in snow-drifts, but as a rule by 
two o'clock we had unloaded, eaten our dinner, 
and were ready for the return trip, and as, in 
that locality, the prevailing wind in winter is 
northwesterly, we always had it in our faces 
going home. 

It was not an unusual thing to have the 
mercury go to zero or several degrees below, and 
the ride, which lasted two or three hours on an 



A Tenderfoot's Trials 5 

empty hayrack with no protection, was a tough 
one. Owing to the dryness of the atmosphere 
the cold does not penetrate as it does in the 
lower altitudes, otherwise we never could have 
stood it, and as it was, we frequently had our 
cheeks and noses frost-bitten. 

The romance of Western life was soon 
knocked out of me, and many a time I felt 
like jumping an East-bound train and bidding 
good-by to the country for good. My pride 
and lack of money, however, stood in the way, 
and then, too, in spite of my hard experience 
I still yearned for the sombrero, mustang, and 
spurs. 

During the first year of my stay on this 
ranch, my trips to the town of Laramie were 
few and far between. After seeing it once I 
did not hanker after it. Like all small railroad 
towns, it was small and rather depressing. 

At that time, there were two residents, or 
rather frequenters, of the town who were, or 
became, celebrated. Wm. E. Nye, or " Bill 
Nye," the humorist, was one. His light was 
then undiscovered and he was sparring for 
wind on the meagre fees of a Justice of the 
Peace and Notary Public. I got to know him 
well and, like all others who came in contact 
with him, was impressed by his gentle nature. 



6 Bucking the Sagebrush 

The other man always reminded me of Nye 
because he was so different. His name was 
John Watkins — he preferred to be called Jack, 
and his wish was always complied with. Mr. 
Jack Watkins had been a star pupil of Mr. 
Slade, whose history has been written by 
Mark Twain, and he studied during the days of 
the overland stage. As many persons know, 
Mr. Slade's end was sudden, and at this time 
I think Watkins was about the last of the real 
simon-pure, all-around desperadoes left in that 
section. It was said of him that he never — that 
is while in the "city" — carried his "guns" 
insolently exposed. When the proper time 
came he would produce them from the bosom 
of his shirt. This fashion, I understand, first 
came into vogue in the " Seven-River Country " 
in Texas. 

Watkins had taken a very great dislike to 
the Sheriff of Albany County and his deputy, 
Larry Fee, because they had been rude to 
him. They had so far forgotten etiquette as 
to attempt to arrest him while he was asleep 
in one of his hidden retreats in the mountains. 
When surprised, he bowed to the inevitable, 
but asked permission to roll up his blankets. 
This he was permitted to do. Then he 
promptly knocked down his would-be captors, 



K 






wto 


■ 


' •• *tfflfl 







ONE YEAR ON A RANCH, '76 



A Tenderfoot's Trials 7 

using the blankets as a club, grabbed one of 
their guns, and escaped before they could re- 
cover their wits. He got away, but the mem- 
ory of the attempted arrest rankled, so one 
day about noon he rode up to the court-house 
in Laramie City and made a call on the Sheriff. 
When he came out the Sheriff was dead and 
Larry Fee had a bullet in the hip, which dis- 
arranged most of his plans for a while. Wat- 
kins stopped long enough to get a drink and 
then skipped the country. Vague rumors 
drifted up from Mexico that he had reformed 
and was running a big freight outfit and Sun- 
day-school, but they were never confirmed. 

We had lively times in other respects also. 
In June of that year, 1876, the Custer massa- 
cre occurred on the Rosebud in Montana, 
about two hundred and fifty miles north ; and 
although there was little trouble to be expected 
from the Sioux, it was a very nervous summer, 
as the Shoshones to the north and west, and 
the Utes to the southwest, were restless and 
ugly, and no one knew when h — 1 would break 
loose. 

To add to the excitement, two or three com- 
panies of the Second Cavalry, stationed at 
Fort Saunders, about three miles from Lara- 
mie, were sent to join General Crook on his 



8 Bucking the Sagebrush 

campaign, which lasted way into the winter 
and brought Sitting Bull to his milk. 

In 1879 the Meeker massacre on the White 
River Indian agency occurred, and in Septem- 
ber Major Thornburg lost his life and a large 
part of his command while on his way to the 
scene of the trouble. In fact, until 1880 we 
always had some kind of Indian trouble on 
hand. 

At the end of my year and a half I decided 
that I did not care for the sheep business, as 
there was not excitement enough, so I formed 
a partnership with a man named Rand and 
launched out for myself. My cash capital 
was small, and all Rand had was a ranch on 
the Little Laramie River, but we had lots of 
faith in our ability. 

Rand had been in the West much longer 
than I, and was looked upon as being quite a 
stockman, because he had lived two years on 
a mule ranch in Missouri. Prior to that his 
life had been spent in a drug house in Boston. 
We soon discovered that we had not sufficient 
capital to be considered cattle kings, so we 
took in two more partners, one of whom was 
Balch, the other an apprentice on another 
sheep ranch. They also had been thoroughly 
trained in the business, one having worked in 



A Tenderfoot's Trials 9 

a crockery shop and the other in a brass foun- 
dry, and both likewise came from Boston. 

Our copartnership papers were drawn up 
by "Bill" Nye. About that time Nye made 
the remark, " All the United States needs to 
make a navy is some ships, as they have all 
the water necessary." In the same vein he 
told us all we required was some cattle to be- 
come cowmen, as we had all the prairie at our 
disposal. 

After the papers were duly signed and 
sealed and the transaction ratified with several 
drinks over the bar of Jack Connor's saloon, 
we drew lots to see which of the three juniors 
should join Rand in a proposed trip to buy 
cattle, and thereby lay the foundation of the 
colossal fortunes we saw in the future. I got 
the lucky number. I was then barely twenty- 
one ; and when I now compare my sense of 
absolute confidence with my complete lack of 
knowledge of the business and of the country 
into which we were going, I cannot help feel- 
ing that, after all, youth is a glorious thing. 




CHAPTER II 

IN MORMON LAND 

WE had been busy for a month or more 
making inquiries as to where to go to 
buy cattle. We did not want to buy a herd 
already made or one that had been brought 
from Texas, which up to the year before had 
supplied the market. We decided first to try 
southern Utah, and, if we failed to find what 
we wanted, then to go to eastern Oregon. In 
accordance with this plan, Rand and I boarded 
the train for Salt Lake City early in the month 
of February, 1878, our idea being to make 
that city our base while prospecting the coun- 
try to the south. 

Salt Lake City at that date was a small 
place in comparison with what it is now, yet, 
owing to the broad streets and length of the 
city blocks, it gave the impression of being a 
very large town. I had been so long away 
from any city that plate-glass shop windows 



In Mormon Land n 

and horse-cars had a quieting effect. We ar- 
rived in the evening, and as we drove down 
the main street it seemed to me that we were 
on Broadway. 

Brigham Young had been dead about a year, 
and the Mormons ran everything as far as the 
municipal government was concerned. I was 
warned by a gentile resident to be very care- 
ful how I ran afoul of the police, as it was one 
of their pastimes to club the unwary unbeliever 
for very small cause. 

The shops were all on the main street 
between Second and Fourth, south, and I im- 
agine the bulk of their trade was with the gen- 
tile. The faithful, or Saints, especially those 
from the rural districts, did most of their trad- 
ing at the Z. C. M. I., which means Zion's 
Co-operative Mercantile Institution. This en- 
terprise was under the control of the Church, 
and I was told that the manager usually re- 
tired with a competence after a year or two. 
The office of manager was generally given to 
some successful missionary, to reward him for 
the years spent on starvation wages while 
spreading the Mormon doctrine in foreign 
parts. 

The great temple was then only built to 
the second story and the tithing yard was in 



12 Bucking the Sagebrush 

full blast. Every Saturday it was crowded 
with farmers' wagons bringing in their contri- 
butions to the fund. The Mormons have al- 
ways been devoted to things theatrical, and in 
the days before the railroad they had many 
plays, most of which were rendered by " home 
talent." The Opera House had great seat- 
ing capacity and, it was said, had the largest 
stage of any theatre in the United States. I 
was told on good authority that in early 
times there were bins built in the ticket office 
to hold the country produce paid in lieu of 
money for tickets to the show. I have no 
reason to doubt the truth of this, as the 
management was controlled by the Church, 
and even in my time the supply of money 
among the farmers was very limited. I pre- 
sume the tariff read something after this 
fashion : 

Admission, i peck potatoes. 

Gallery, 3 doz. eggs or a gallon of milk. 

Orchestra chairs, 1 bushel of oats. 

Proscenium box, 1 load of hay. 

The streets were all well swept and the 
clear running water in all the gutters increased 
the aspect of cleanliness. A large proportion 
of the dwelling-houses were one and a half 



In Mormon Land 13 

stories high, built of adobe bricks, white- 
washed and sheltered by trees and surrounded 
by gardens ; in summer they were covered 
with vines. With the background of high, 
snow-capped mountains, it was a most beauti- 
ful spot. 

There were some hot sulphur springs just 
north of the town, most efficacious as a cure 
for morning headaches as a result of too close 
a study of the manners and customs of the in- 
habitants. 

All religious sects, outside the Mormon 
Church, were very tolerant. I remember go- 
ing to a charity ball given for the benefit of 
a Catholic orphanage, or something of that 
kind, and finding that two of the Reception 
Committee were Jews. 

A popular pastime of the town was that of 
matching coins. A man would walk into a hotel 
office, store, or saloon, and slap his hand on 
the counter, palm down, at the same time mur- 
muring "ten times for twenty" or " five times 
for ten." This to the uninitiated was puzzling. 
What he meant was, that he would match any 
one in the crowd ten times for twenty dollars 
a time, or five times for ten dollars a time. 
Generally his challenge was taken. There was 
some very high poker-playing also, and I have 



14 Bucking the Sagebrush 

known of games to last a couple of weeks. 
Those were the days when to own a silver 
mine meant " money in both pockets," and the 
mine owners " spent their money like road- 
agents." The gentile population of Salt Lake 
City was made up of mine owners, miners or 
speculators in mines, merchants, and railroad 
people. 

I saw here for the first time two real Dan- 
ites, or " avenging angels," as they were also 
known. They were the secret police of the 
Mormon Church. If any convert became 
weary of his surroundings or got disgusted and 
tried to leave the country, or if he bucked the 
authority of the Church, he disappeared from 
his " sphere of influence " and, with the help of 
these same Danites, tackled the " open door" 
or rather the " gates ajar." The one I remem- 
ber best was named Porter Rockwell. He was 
a short, stockily-built man with rather a pleas- 
ant face, very deeply lined. He wore his hair 
long, but it was plaited in two pig-tails and 
coiled on either side of the back of his head. 
His chief occupation was getting drunk, and he 
was always in the company of two men. Re- 
port had it that these attendants were em- 
ployed by the Mormon authorities to keep him 
from telling his tales when under the influence 



In Mormon Land 15 

of liquor. Bill Hickman was the other, but he 
only appeared once in a while, as he lived on a 
ranch some distance off. If any one cares to 
hear more about these gentlemen, let him read 
the confession of John R. Lee. 

From my own observations made during a 
period of ten years both in Utah and Idaho, I 
can state without qualification that in my opin- 
ion the true "endowment-robed Mormon" 
would stop at no treachery, deceit, or cruelty 
to carry out the orders of the president or the 
twelve apostles of the Church. 

After a stay of about a week we left for 
the cattle country. The only railroad running 
south was known as the Utah Southern, with 
its terminus at York, ninety miles from Salt 
Lake City. We left early in the morning and 
upon arriving at York, took a " jerky " or one- 
horse stage to Nephi, some ten or twelve miles 
off. We had been advised to put ourselves 
under the wing of an old English Mormon 
named Goldsborough (pronounced Goldsbruff), 
who was a leader of the people and one of the 
original Mormon settlers who came in with 
Brigham Young. He kept the hotel at Nephi. 

Our landlord was a man seventy-five years 
old ; he had five wives living, and we were 
shown his twenty-fifth child, a baby about two 



1 6 Bucking the Sagebrush 

years old. His first wife was a sweet-faced 
English woman several years older than he, 
and whom he had married in the old country 
before he joined the Mormons. He told us 
he was a prosperous greengrocer in a small 
town in England when he "got religion." He 
sold everything at a week's notice and emi- 
grated to Utah. The hotel was managed by 
the fourth wife, his first wife being too feeble 
to do much work ; the second and third were 
running his ranches, and the fifth kept a milli- 
nery shop in the town. The sons and daughters 
also worked in the various departments, so 
that the whole family made quite a lively firm. 

The hotel, or rather the inn, was a low- 
studded, one-and-a-half-story, rambling affair. 
In the public parlor was a big open fireplace 
piled high with blazing cedar logs, and it all 
seemed very comfortable after our cold, tedious 
ride. I can smell the burning cedar now. 

We made a contract with Goldsborough to 
drive us in a two-seated wagon to a point about 
a hundred and fifty miles farther south, and 
started out a day or two afterwards. I doubt 
if there was a gentile, barring Rand and my- 
self and a United States marshal, in the whole 
country, and I know that we were looked upon 
with suspicion and dislike, in spite of the fact 



In Mormon Land 17 

that we were vouched for by our friend " Golds- 
bruff." 

During our long drives he gave us a de- 
tailed account of the trials and hardships of 
the pioneer settlers. The poor creatures were 
between the devil and the deep sea when they 
struck Utah ; at times it almost meant starvation 
either to go or stay, with the added certainty of 
being held up by the " avenging angels " if they 
went. So they stayed and finally made fertile 
valleys and plateaus out of a sagebrush desert. 

Mormon towns all look very much alike. 
They are more picturesque than those seen 
along the railway lines in the central West. The 
reason for it is the almost universal use of adobe 
brick, and in a great many cases thatched roofs. 
This may all be changed now, but at that time 
little if any building material was imported 
and everything as far as possible was made 
from home products. An illustration of this 
is the fact that the great organ in the Taber- 
nacle in Salt Lake City was built from wood 
grown in Utah. 

On this trip we received more evidence 
that there was practically no ready money in 
circulation among the people. All trading was 
done at the " co-op" stores. For instance, I 
saw a little girl trade eggs for matches in one 



1 8 Bucking the Sagebrush 

of these stores, and I presume other staples 
were bought in the same way. These " co-ops " 
had some system of exchange with the head- 
quarters in Salt Lake City, so that their produce 
was shipped to places, such as mining camps 
and railroad towns, etc., where it was sold for 
cash to the gentile, and credited to them against 
stocks of goods and groceries supplied by the 
head concern. 

We spent a night at a town called Manti, 
and as there was no hotel we put up at the house 
of the bishop of that " Stake," it being the un- 
written law that bishops had the first right to 
gather in the shekels of the hated gentile. 
In the course of conversation with one of the 
bishop's sons, we learned there was to be a 
dance given that night in the Town Hall. We 
were desirous of mingling for a short time with 
the 400 of Manti, and we asked him to get us 
an " invite." This he promised to do. We did 
not mingle, however, as the Committee opined 
that if any damned gentile showed up he was 
likely to get " thumped." Such was, and I 
have no doubt still is, the love of the Saints 
for the " white men." 

We were at the very first struck by the 
number of deformed and half-witted children 
we saw in the different towns and villages 



In Mormon Land 19 

through which we passed, but later we found 
out the reason. 

In one town, I think it was called Ephraim's 
Field, so called from the fact that the land was 
all cultivated in one large tract by the villagers 
in common, we tried to find the bishop and 
called at four of his houses in search of him. 
Goldsborough told us, and this I will take my 
oath to, that this bishop was married to a 
mother and three daughters, and that some of 
the sons and daughters by these marriages had 
in turn married each other, or at all events 
there were grandchildren in the family without 
any outside " entangling alliances." To figure 
out the relationship of the second and third 
generations is rather dizzy work, but it ex- 
plains the deformed progeny and idiots. 

Most of these people seem to be of Eng- 
lish, Swedish, or Danish descent, and a more 
benighted-looking lot of white people I never 
saw — nor an uglier. I don't remember having 
seen one attractive girl face during our stay, 
and we had good opportunities on Sundays to 
inspect them, as we generally brought up in a 
town where there was a orood-sized tabernacle. 
From the crowds I should judge that every 
man, woman, and child in the surrounding 
country was there. 



20 Bucking the Sagebrush 

I listened to one or two addresses, but don't 
remember much about them. The style was 
about what might be looked for in a kinder- 
garten of the present day. Some persons may 
think that I am prejudiced against the Mor- 
mons, — I don 't think I am unjustly so. Any 
American citizen naturally would be more or 
less alarmed to find that a large and rapidly in- 
creasing number of his fellow-citizens (?) are 
blissfully ignorant that there is such a geo- 
graphical division of the North American con- 
tinent as the United States, and believe that 
the ruler of the country is the president of the 
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. 
Such was the case in 1878 in many parts of 
Utah, and I have little doubt that in many of 
the small Mormon settlements situated in 
Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, Nevada, and New 
Mexico, the same belief holds to-day. 

Many people throughout the United States 
are liable to think that Utah holds all the 
Mormons, but if they take the trouble to in- 
quire they will find that the political complex- 
ion of all the States given above is very much 
influenced by the Mormon vote, which is ab- 
solutely controlled by the Church. I have read 
articles in defence of these people and was 
especially impressed by one, written, I believe, 



In Mormon Land 21 

by one of the most prominent educators and 
divines of America after a visit to Salt Lake 
City. 

The astuteness and tact displayed by the 
head men of the organization were fully demon- 
strated by the way they stuffed this eminent 
divine with prunes. This is not cattle driving, 
however, so we will return to our two-seated 
wagon. 

After leaving Manti we kept on in a south- 
westerly direction until we reached the Sevier 
River, and followed it up almost to Beaver, 
when we gave it up as a bad job, turned north, 
and found our way back to Nephi, and thence 
to Salt Lake City. At Nephi I saw some of 
the finest freighting outfits one could imagine. 
Everything at that time had to be hauled in 
wagons to and from the railroad terminus at 
York and the settlements and mining camps 
as far south as Parowan and St. George. 
These outfits generally consisted of three 
wagons and were hauled by eight span of 
mules. The wagons were trailed one behind 
the other and the " tread " diminished in 
width from the " lead-wagon " to the last trail. 
This was done in order that in heavy mud or 
sand the wheels should not turn in the same 
rut, thereby increasing the risk of miring 



:: -u:kir.^ :':.t ^iz±zris'~ 



down; it also made them pull easier. The 

:::..-- :i:.^-z :r:~ 1:11: f ..:::ttr.-- ir.i -n.tr- 

121 :-;-. . ile= .:. :..t z :.- : : i :: i f:n ::' 
:."..:::::.•:.: i i :r;:ii.fi. ... _'.±5 : r. :.1t Leii 
They were driven with a " jerk line" manipu- 
lated by the ""mule skinner*' who rode die 

r._i. — keelt: 

7 it : _ Til-: : e tut. nil- 

:;.: : 7f :-::;. .7 : -.-z:.z':r. 111 11: it f:e= "': 
-:.". : i: : _: = : il-: : ::.: illir^ r tt: :rii .5 i : : 
::::. ft: . :_= :i;_n: " i :: :; t:;:7i.i 
:it ;. :.:.:. :;'.t : : ::: ;erk '..it. 

.: r i f.i^it rt.i r_ii.ii :i::_n :.ir~ -~ i 

:/.- :. iei : : : - :: : . : \- ::: :: :it 

-li '.tiit: :: :;.: i:.:::; ir :.: r.:i :z :tt 

ttLer A ._..: frit ;: ; _t :ti:tts :: 
±t ;...;.: :: :it _ : : ±t : :: : :' :..: :f 
leader. When the driver wishes to go to the 
. t : : ;.: .. i: i . : : . ^ s : 1 1 1 z _ . . : r. : 1 1 ' t : .*: 

- ..- : : :..t :_ i: .1 :. ii :;.: ,.:t i 
t — :: e .::: _-n:;: 7:1.: 7: 5 it i ~eH- 
:n.iti ziult :tLit f:ir: i i.ti ""/ i:: .5 Like 
■ i:;:.:: i • t -t::t:_:t1 ii...:iry t 7_:.:i 
At the first command, every animal gets into 
::...".: :.: :it :.-:;..: ;.: ::.- =.e::~: : it; 
f : : i _ i : t : . : _ : : 1 t : . i = 1 1 1 ^ t : ""-.. .:.:: '.:.-.: 
::1Llt= hi i: :..: :i:i :ity sizii'y ... . ;'::- 
• ■ ■ i : i i ' -. i :::-.:.:._ t £ : : : i : _ i : . . ::.: '.: i i 



In Mormon Land 23 

Et-rts. Thrrt i = r. : "tri-iir.:; :r :.'.■_■ r./.'.r V:: 
- :t :t:i:it :i.t '^^::i The expert "mule 
skinner " can almost play a tone with hi<s black 

E'E>i: 

5::~e : e rrivtl e. i : r .r iis'=.r.:e ir. :hi: iry 

musi: ~E.it :y :i-.t ;:r.r".t :: :r.t r.t 1= :*L5:tr.ti 
:: :ht ::iiLrs :: :r.t '.-li-vr. _i-: :r.:tr=j..tr5-t-: 
E7t~:::'y "-.:'.-. :ht nr:lt ::' = —lL".-l— _= e. 
si^T. :i~.E.: :i~.t ~.:.7.~.t: i~.EE e E.:tr.t: :r:~ 
drtE.~s :: ir. :.~t ir. i h :~.t-:: : i*:ir.~; E.r. i is 
rtii. :;r e. !i::it :.E.ir. E-:".--:-t".y l:.: ::£: — 
is r=.p:i".y dyi.-.;; ::: ir. :>.t I-rti: ~.V~s: e.~ : is 
btir.i: rty.E.ti :y :i.t Eirttih ::' :>.- !:•:;—.> 
:iv~ v,-h:s:".t Lr.i :i.t liir.;; :: :..- :r:iity i-t'-L 

0_r ir.:':rr.E.:i:r. : : :h~ ::ee .";.'..: ie= :: rt:- 
xir. it e. i~ tr i ir. :r.i.~ Et::i: r. r.E.f i-rtr. rr. : i^EE ~ / 
e: I-.e.-. ir. r ". :e: :>.rtt - tti-:- :i~.t ~t::-r.f : r- 
stlvf.5 ir. c ii: li:t I;:y r. : r.t.EJ*t: :-.: :":t:: 
E.r.2 :r.t:±:':rt itiiiti :: iuee"- : r. :: jrtr:r. 
Et::rt r.E..-:.'.r :r.:= it::E::r. ' t - -.- ::*.£ :: 

:i.E.: "-le :';: e.l.^ ir. NV.-e.eLe 7 
rLr.^r- r.tL: e :;~t. :E..t:. _;.-::; _:--:.-: ;r. 
Eik: !;:-:;. l::_: E-tvtr.ry rr.ii-tE :i_~ e:_:'.. 
of Wells, on the line of what was then the 
Itr.:rL. ?E.:if.: ? e. . ir : ee 

T r.ir.i ^ - .: ■■ - :\ :\ z'r.tTt i~. i ir. -::_e:- 
:t::rt ~L>:r.:- :r.t i:r.7j :ri:. :: l-rtrir. e::-: 



24 Bucking the Sagebrush 

resting for a day or two at Salt Lake City, we 
took to the railroad again and were dumped 
off in the middle of the night at Wells, from 
which metropolis the stages ran to Cherry 
Creek. 

This was my first experience in real Western 
staging, and it certainly filled the bill. We 
left Wells at four o'clock in the morning, in 
company with a brother of Senator Jones of 
Nevada and a mining superintendent named 
Coughlin, in a six-horse stage, and from then 
until late that evening we struck the road only 
in the "high places." 

We breakfasted before starting, but, with 
a naturally good appetite and the jolting, I 
thought before we reached the dinner station 
that I should have to begin on the leather cur- 
tain straps to appease my hunger. The swing 
team of our second relay was made up of a 
green broncho and a balky horse, and the way 
the poor brutes were "shaped up" was a cau- 
tion to snakes. We arrived about on time, 
spent the following day riding about trying to 
find the herd we had come to see, but without 
success, and left on the return trip the next 
morning at the usual hour of four a.m. 

I am writing to be put on record as stating 
that I believe all stage-coach builders and 



In Mormon Land 25 

stage-line proprietors and employees are banded 
together to make life a burden to all that are 
unfortunate enough to be thrown into their 
power. This was my opinion after my first 
round, and it remains the same now, after 
having tackled stage lines from Montana to 
California. Those who wish to return to the 
old days of the stage-coach can do so. I '11 
stay behind with my feet perched on the rest 
in the barber shop of some transcontinental 
limited train, with a cooling drink within 
reaching distance. 

The trip back to Wells was a terror. By 
some mistake, we understood that we should 
get breakfast at the first station out, so started 
without even a cup of coffee. There was a 
fine, cold snow falling, which increased in vol- 
ume, and by daylight we were in the midst of 
a blizzard. Our only fellow-passenger was a 
drunken miner, but I had cause later to thank 
my stars that he happened to be along. 

The first station turned out to be a shack 
where they kept a change of horses and a 
stock-tender. We suggested that breakfast 
was about the proper thing. 

" Breakfast h — 1," growled the man in charge 
of the relay station. " The next meal is dinner, 
an' you '11 git it about eleven if you have luck." 



26 Bucking the Sagebrush 

To add to our discomfort, we had nothing 
to protect ourselves against the chilling snow, 
which before long was an inch or two deep in 
the bottom of the stage. It was here that the 
drunken miner was transformed into a good 
Samaritan, owing largely to the motion of the 
stage. He became as a landlubber on his first 
voyage and it sobered him. He then remem- 
bered he was cold and " dug up " his roll of 
blankets, which were on the rack behind. 
When he opened them up he discovered that 
some kind friend had put in a cold lunch and 
a bottle of whiskey. He shared the blankets 
with us, gave us his lunch — he was still too ill 
to care for food, — and proceeded to " catch up " 
on the new whiskey. I think this was the first 
time I ever drank raw whiskey from the neck 
of a bottle, but I was so near frozen that kero- 
sene oil would have been acceptable. I have 
always felt that that man saved our lives, for 
we did not reach "dinner" until late that 
afternoon. 

By this time Rand and I began to think that 
cattle buying was not the picnic we had ex- 
pected it to be. We had been out a month 
and had spent quite a lot of money without 
buying a hoof. 

Oregon and Washington Territory beckoned 



In Mormon Land 27 

us on. We had a choice of two routes to 
get to Walla-Walla, our objective point. The 
quickest was by stage from a town called 
Kelton, in Utah, on the railroad opposite the 
head of Great Salt Lake. The road followed 
the south bank of Snake River and touched at 
Baker City, then crossed the Blue Mountains 
to Walla- Walla. The distance was about 550 
miles and it took six days and six nights to 
make it. 

Both Rand and I were averse to stage- 
coaches, at any rate after our late experience, 
and the prospect of being jounced for that 
number of days and nights consequently had 
its terrors. 

It did not take much argument to prove to 
our satisfaction that owing to the high tariff 
on stage routes, etc., it really was cheaper to 
go to San Francisco and take the steamer up 
the coast to Portland, Oregon, and then on 
up the Columbia to Wallula, which was the 
" seaport " for Walla-Walla. Once more we 
boarded the overland at Wells, as usual in the 
middle of the night. 




CHAPTER III 
OFF TO OREGON 

MY ideas of California were vague, and the 
subject of climate never entered my 
head. For this reason the sudden and unex- 
pected leap from midwinter to midsummer 
made a lasting impression. 

The overland time-table then decreed that, 
if the engineer and conductor had no previous 
engagements with washouts or snow-drifts, the 
trains would cross the mountains during the 
night. We took supper at Wadsworth, in 
Nevada, and had the usual vacation for exer- 
cise, which varied as to length in those days 
anywhere from half an hour to three weeks, 
according to the season of the year and condi- 
tion of the weather. I remember on this occa- 
sion it was a cold, snowy evening, and the 
sagebrush plains looked about as desolate as a 
pile of empty tomato cans. 

We pulled out about seven o'clock, and in 
28 



Off to Oregon 29 

due time went to bed regretting that we should 
not see the forty miles of snow-sheds through 
which the train passed while crossing the Sier- 
ras. Although we did not see them we smelt 
them, as the sulphurous gas from the soft coal 
filled the car every time the door was opened 
by the trainmen (there were no vestibuled cars 
then). We had two locomotives puffing up- 
hill, and one can imagine what a real taste we 
had of a hereafter reserved for others. 

The early part of the night I spent with 
most of the other passengers trying to keep 
my lungs in place, but when we struck the 
down grade our troubles ceased and we slept. 
I awoke with a sensation of being in hot water, 
and with the sulphurous smell still in the air. 
My first idea was that things had gone wrong 
and I had " landed." In my excitement I raised 
the curtain of my window, and to my surprise 
saw a country blossoming with fruit trees and 
flowers. In a few minutes we stopped at a sta- 
tion, and I noticed a number of young women 
on the platform dressed in their summer gowns. 
My impulse was to get out right there and 
camp. To my petticoat-starved eyes these 
young women were more beautiful than the 
houris of the Mohammedan paradise. 

But the train pulled out, and that evening 



30 Bucking the Sagebrush 

we arrived at Oakland mole and San Fran- 
cisco. The Central Pacific then ran down 
from Sacramento by Stockton and Niles, the 
short cut to Benicia and Port Costa not having 
been built at the time. Our stay in San Fran- 
cisco lasted only a little over twenty-four hours, 
as our steamer sailed the morning of the second 
day. We went aboard the City of Chester 
bound for Portland, Oregon, via Astoria. It 
took five days to go from San Francisco to 
Astoria under ordinary circumstances. We 
took six. 

I enjoyed it all, and in writing of this trip 
I must make an attempt to describe the " trav- 
elling man " as he was then on the Pacific Coast. 
As far as my experience had gone, these nine 
or ten San Francisco drummers were the tough- 
est (physically speaking), cheeriest, hardest- 
working representatives of commerce that I 
ever saw. We met continually during the two 
or three months we spent in Oregon and Wash- 
ington Territory, in all sorts of places and under 
all conditions of discomfort, both as regards 
weather and living, but I always found them 
the same, — working like beavers during the 
day, sitting up to all hours of the night if any 
music could be had, off again at daylight in 
any old stage or trap bound for the next town, 



Off to Oregon 31 

sleeping in grocery stores or barrooms when 
the hotels were full, living on crackers and 
cheese if nothing else was to be had, and 
always cheery, cheery, cheery. 

They would discuss anything from theology 
to cookery, and change their beliefs and ideas 
with every new town. I have never seen any 
of them since, but have often wondered if they 
died or got rich ; I don't think there was any 
middle course. 

We arrived off the Columbia River in the 
middle of the night, and had to lie to and wait 
for daylight in order to cross the bar. The 
wind was blowing about half a gale from the 
northwest, and the sea was very high and 
choppy. I went on deck about daybreak, and 
the first thing I saw was a sailor lashed to the 
rail on either side of the stern, ready, with a 
tackle bent to the tiller, to catch her in case 
the wheel ropes parted. We got in, however, 
without mishap, and tied up to the dock at 
Astoria about eight o'clock. We remained 
several hours unloading sheet tin for salmon 
cans. The first officer informed me that tin 
was a " grand thing" to make a ship roll. 

Astoria, I thought, was a good place to get 
away from. It was built on piles, and a native 
told me that they had had fifty odd days of 



32 Bucking the Sagebrush 

rain consecutively. Everything looked par- 
boiled, especially the hands of the stevedores 
on the dock. Altogether, my recollection of 
the place is dismal. 

We arrived in Portland early in the morn- 
ing and went to a hotel, which I think was 
called the Occidental. The city then extended 
along the bank of the Willamette River for 
possibly a mile, and back about six or eight 
blocks. The busiest street was Second Street, 
and most of the large wholesale stores were 
toward the southern end of the street. 

It seemed rather odd to hear the chirp of 
the tree-toads even above the rumble of the 
heavy drays. I noticed also that all the shin- 
gled roofs were covered with moss. I discov- 
ered that these conditions hold throughout 
the Webfoot Country on account of the moist 
climate. Our stay here was short. 

We made arrangements with the banking 
house of Ladd & Tilton to do our business, 
and the next day embarked on what seemed 
to me to be quite a large stern-wheel steamer, 
which went up the Columbia River as far as 
the Cascades. 

I believe this is the finest river scenery in 
the United States. There may be some of 
more grandeur, but I have never seen it. The 



Off to Oregon 33 

width of the river as it sweeps down between 
terraced palisades on both banks, rising almost 
sheer to a height in some places of two thou- 
sand feet, the luxuriance of the vegetation, and 
the glimpses one gets of mountain streams 
brawling down the face of the cliffs, or else 
taking a complete fall of six hundred or a 
thousand feet, make a panorama of enchant- 
ing beauty. 

We reached the Cascades in the afternoon, 
and were put aboard a little railroad train 
(narrow gauge) which carried us to the upper 
side of the falls. I remember there was a 
blockhouse pointed out which was said to have 
been built by General Sherman just after the 
Civil War. This railroad, which could not 
have been more than three miles long, as I 
remember, was on the Oregon side of the river. 
It was the only one in that State at that time. 
Above the Cascades we took another steamer 
of the same type as the first, but smaller. We 
continued to a town called " The Dalles." I 
never found out what The Dalles really meant. 
It is a French name, evidently, and no doubt 
just means The Dalles. At all events, you 
don 't see them often. The Columbia River 
is turned on edge and flows through an open- 
ing in the solid rock, barely more than a 



34 Bucking the Sagebrush 

hundred and fifty yards wide and perhaps a 
quarter of a mile long. The river narrows 
down to this from a width of three quarters of 
a mile immediately above, so one can imagine 
the rush of water. Niagara Falls, of course, 
is a much fancier piece of property, but when it 
comes to business and real push give me The 
Dalles. 

We transferred again and took another boat. 
By this time we had left the mountains of the 
Cascade range behind us and were getting to 
the low, sandy plains through which the Colum- 
bia River flows for hundreds of miles, beginning 
near the British Columbia line. It was about 
here that we first saw old Mt. Hood, rising as 
if alone from the plains, cone-shaped and snow- 
capped. It was several months before I finally 
lost sight of it for good and all, and in those 
months I learned a good deal that I never 
could have learned at Sunday-school. 

Our boat stopped every now and then and 
ran its nose up on the bank to unload some 
freight, and it was not until I had ridden over 
the same country on a horse that I cleared up 
the puzzle as to whom that freight was for. At 
that time I saw nothing in the shape of a 
house, to say nothing of a settlement, and the 
only objects alive were some Indians squatting 



Off to Oregon 35 

about or sitting on their ponies, with their all- 
seeing look of indifference. The boxes and 
bundles were tumbled out on the sand and we 
would steam merrily on our way, leaving the 
Indians still squatting and indifferent. 

The indifference of the Indians is explained 
by the fact that they and the settler had had 
one or two heated arguments as to whom 
things in general belonged to the year pre- 
vious, which culminated in the Nez Perces 
War of 1877, in which the Indians came out 
second-best. At the time of which I write, it 
was considered etiquette on their part to leave 
things alone until called for by the freighters, 
who hauled them inland to their destination. 

The lack of any sign of habitation was ac- 
counted for because the ranches were located 
on the hay bottoms of the creeks and were 
hidden by the high intervening sand-hills. 

These plains on both sides of the river were 
grazing grounds for thousands of cattle. A 
man by the name of Ben Snipes, who lived at 
The Dalles, was reputed to have twenty or 
thirty thousand head that ranged on the north, 
or Yakima, side. There is no doubt that he 
had fully this many as he sold parts of the herd 
for years to Eastern buyers. 

We arrived at Wallula about dusk and left 



36 Bucking the Sagebrush 

early in the forenoon of the next day. Some 
eighteen years afterwards I found myself on 
the outskirts of the Sahara desert, and my first 
view of that historic waste reminded me of 
Wallula and its surroundings as it was then, 
sand in all directions. I have never been there 
since, and if it has grown into a large and 
prosperous town I hope the inhabitants will 
pardon me. 

There was a hotel built of logs, but I re- 
member particularly the board lean-to, which 
evidently had only lately been added, as the 
new, rough planking was the only thing that 
was not the color of sand. This addition con- 
tained the bar and quite a large amount 
of floor space, which later on was used as a 
dormitory by the overflow from the hotel. 
Those who were fortunate enough to have 
blankets spread them wherever they could 
find room and made a bluff at getting some 
sleep. Those who had none, "bellied up" to 
the bar until it was a matter of indifference to 
them whether they had blankets, or only a 
flannel shirt and confidence in their ability to 
stand. 

I had my " bed " and finally sank into a sound 
slumber, lulled by the strains of Suwanee 
River sung by an inebriated chorus. It was 



Off to Oregon 37 

a strange evening, and it made a lasting im- 
pression, especially as this was my first ex- 
perience with the rougher side of frontier life. 
I don't think that at that time I had ever been 
in the same room with men brutally drunk, 
and I must admit they scared me. Before I 
lost consciousness there had been one or two 
fights, and judging from the looks of the com- 
pany next morning, there must have been 
more. Subsequent experience taught me that 
it took very little of the " red eye" then dis- 
pensed over the bars in that country to make 
a man try to fight with the picture of his best 
girl. 

I got up early, as the atmosphere was 
weighty with the fumes of stale beer and bad 
tobacco, and took a stroll outside. I then dis- 
covered that, in addition to the hotel, there 
were a store, another barroom, and some build- 
ings, evidently belonging to the railroad. 

Perhaps the description of the hotel fare of 
the period in that part of the country may be 
of interest. Everything was fried, of course, 
and there was no stint in the quantity. Beef, 
potatoes, coffee (so-called) or tea (terracotta), 
baking-powder biscuits, and always salmon. I 
got such a dose of salmon during my stay in 
Oregon that it took ten years and a good 



38 



Bucking the Sagebrush 



constitution to get the taste out of my mouth. 
Strange to say, in a country where there 
were thousands of sheep, mutton was not 
looked upon with favor as an article of food. I 
have heard some of the old-timers say that they 
would as soon eat mule as sheep meat. How- 
ever, it was served in hotels. When one got 
into the farming districts, eggs, chickens, and 
vegetables were plentiful, as was also fruit, 
especially in the Walla-Walla valley. 




CHAPTER IV 

OUR TROUBLES BEGIN 

EVERYTHING was ready finally, and we 
were all on the train bound for Walla- 
Walla. Those who were comatose or semi- 
comatose, owing to the red-eye treatment of 
the night before, were loaded with the freight. 
The track was narrow gauge, and the train 
consisted of two flat cars and two or three box 
cars. One box car had planks across to sit 
on, and was occupied mostly by the women 
travellers. 

We were hardly under way when the inevi- 
table mouth organ appeared, and at intervals 
we had music during the journey. The dis- 
tance was about thirty miles, and we were 
over three hours making it. We passed 
through no towns, but kept stopping every 
mile or two to drop of! various packages. 

The conductor of that train was one of the 
most accommodating men I ever met. After 

39 



40 Bucking the Sagebrush 

we had been out about an hour, one of the 
women who had a child with her expressed 
a wish for a drink of water. The train was 
stopped and he alighted with a bucket and 
started down the track. In about three sec- 
onds, every man with " hot coppers," that could 
walk, was following in his wake. They were 
gone about half an hour, and when they strag- 
gled back they looked like some scouting 
party returning from a severe engagement. 
Most of them had handkerchiefs tied about 
their heads. I learned that about a quarter of 
a mile away from the railroad there was an 
exceptionally fine spring of cold water, and 
cold water was what they needed. 

Everybody cheered up after that and we 
eventually arrived at Walla-Walla. 

This railroad was then owned by Baker 
& Boyer, bankers at Walla-Walla, and had 
recently been equipped with iron rails ; be- 
fore that time the track had been of wooden 
joists laid with strap iron. It must have 
been a mint to the owners, as a large 
portion of the wheat that was raised in the 
Walla-Walla valley and the foothills of the 
Blue Mountains was shipped over this road to 
the river at Wallula and thence to the sea- 
board by steamer. I don't know what the 



Our Troubles Begin 41 

freight rates were, but I know that farmers 
were talking of dollar wheat, and I imagine 
they needed it, especially as most of the 
shippers in that section had mortgaged their 
crops to Baker & Boyer to start with. 

I have seen the time when the Union 
Pacific R. R. was lord of creation, and " uncle" 
Collis Huntington had things his own way, at 
least in California, but for a rock-bound mon- 
opoly I think that corporation beat them all. 
They not only owned the only railroad in the 
country, but they owned the only bank, and, 
incidentally, most of the inhabitants. Walla- 
Walla at that time was the metropolis of 
Washington Territory and eastern Oregon, 
and contained from 2000 to 2500 people. 
There was a main business street several 
blocks long. The largest store was Schwa- 
backer's. This firm dealt in everything from 
hairpins to anvils, and had branches in almost 
every village throughout eastern Oregon. 
They were Hebrews, of course, as were the 
majority of large storekeepers then, as now, in 
the Northwest. 

The farmers were cattle- and horse-poor 
throughout Union, Wasco, and Umatilla 
counties, and also across the Columbia River 
in Yakima and Klikitat counties. This con- 



42 Bucking the Sagebrush 

dition was brought about from the following 
causes : When the first immigrants into Ore- 
gon crossed the plains in '41 and later, they 
brought with them stock of some kind, either 
horse or horned. As years went on, the pro- 
geny of these animals rolled up in numbers so 
rapidly that the amount necessary for the 
home market was but a small percentage of the 
annual increase. The ranges and water were 
all free, the climate moderate, and the feed 
unsurpassed. Who has not heard of Oregon 
bunch grass ? Under these circumstances all 
stock throve. 

There was practically no outlet for the sur- 
plus except in the Portland market, and that 
was of little use to the people in eastern 
Oregon on account of the distance and freight 
charges. It does not seem to have struck the 
native that he might find a market if he drove 
to a railroad. In fact, I imagine few of them 
knew that there was a railroad across the con- 
tinent, and if they did, the expense and risk of 
driving put it entirely out of their figuring. 
A year or two, perhaps longer, before I 
arrived, some of the more progressive resi- 
dents had turned their attention to sheep, as 
they found they could get some return from 
the sale of wool, even if there was no sale fo* 



Our Troubles Begin 43 

mutton. The wool was hauled to the river or 
the railroad and shipped to San Francisco via 
Portland, although I believe there were then 
several woollen mills in the web-foot or west- 
ern section of the State. The sheepmen then 
were financially on top, and a very bitter feel- 
ing was shown between them and the cattle- 
raisers. As usual, the cowmen looked down 
on the sheep-herder, and claimed the ranges 
were being fed off, etc., but as the sheep- 
raisers had more money to spend for drinks, 
they seemed to have the better of the argu- 
ment. 

I have no way of knowing the number of 
cattle then ranging in eastern Oregon and 
Washington, but judging from the thousands 
that were driven east between 1877 an d I &%3> 
it must have been half a million if not more. 
Prices had begun to rise even when we first 
began to buy, but the following list of values 
was accepted that year : Cows with calf by 
their side, $9.00 to $10.00 ; yearlings, $5.00 to 
$7.00; two-year-olds, $8.00 to $10.00; and 
three-year-olds and up, $14.00 to $16.00. The 
price of sheep ranged from $1.00 to $1.50 ac- 
cording to age and size. These prices rose 
steadily as the number of droves increased. 
In 1882 we gave it up, as the margin of profit 



44 Bucking the Sagebrush 

had decreased to such an extent that it was 
not worth the risk. 

The farmer in Oregon therefore depended for 
cash really upon the sale of his wheat or wool. 
The only thing that was accepted as money 
was gold coin, and, to a limited extent, silver. 
Although in that year greenbacks were at par, 
and silver at a discount in the Eastern States, 
you could not persuade a farmer to touch any- 
thing but coin. Here is an example : 

On one of my cattle-buying trips, in cross- 
ing a stream my horse mired in a quicksand 
and so wrenched his back in his struggles to 
get out as to render him useless. I led him 
to the nearest ranch, some four or six miles 
distant, and after several hours' talk I per- 
suaded the ranchman to take a fifty-dollar 
greenback and my crippled horse in trade for 
one which, under other circumstances and 
with gold, I could have bought for $20.00 at 
the outside. He was not trying to gouge 
me, and I really think that when I rode off he 
was morally sure he was one horse out, as the 
greenback conveyed no idea of value to him. 

As I have said, there were no banks except 
the one in Walla-Walla, and so the general 
stores attended to the financial needs of the 
ranchman. Checks or drafts were so much waste 



Our Troubles Begin 45 



£> 



paper, and all transactions were on the basis 
of either absolute credit or else coin. I am 
speaking of course from the standpoint of 



strangers. 



It seems easy in these days of express com- 
panies to transport coin, but no one who has 
not tried it can conceive of the physical dis- 
comfort entailed in carrying silver or gold 
dollars in any amount on horseback. I am 
not alluding to the danger of being robbed, 
but to the fatigue. A bag of dollars seems to 
have teeth. If you tie it on your saddle, it is 
sure to injure the horse's back ; if you carry it 
slung on your person, no matter in what fashion, 
you experience the sensation of having a hole 
bored in you. 

The immigration into Oregon and Wash- 
ington that year was very heavy. I heard it 
estimated as high as 40,000 and we could see 
evidence of new arrivals continually. Scarcely 
a week passed without our meeting an immi- 
grant train of several wagons, hunting locations. 
Most of them seemed to come from Missouri 
or Arkansas. It was quite the ordinary thing 
to see a family camped in their wagon box on 
their claim, while the male portion were plough- 
ing the land in order to get their crops seeded 
in before it was too late. The system seemed 



46 Bucking the Sagebrush 

to be first to plough the land and sow it, then 
build the fences and shelter for the stock, and 
finally, if time and money held out, a home to 
live in. Otherwise the wagon box was taken 
from the hounds and banked in with sod, with 
a lean-to of brush for a kitchen, and this 
seemed all that was necessary to make things 
comfortable for the winter. 

There were thousands of acres of the finest 
wheat land in the world lying open to settle- 
ment. This was virgin soil. Except along the 
rivers and creeks there were few fences or 
signs of habitation. I am told that to-day the 
larger portion of the counties of Union, Wasco, 
and Umatilla are so fenced up and farmed 
that it would be impossible to drive even a 
small band of cattle through the country. 
This may all be very uninteresting, but the 
changes have been so tremendous that many 
will find it hard to believe that these conditions 
existed only one generation ago. 

Rand and I had everything to learn, but at 
the same time it was necessary to give, or try 
to give, the impression that we knew it all. 

A friend in need turned up in the person of 
a man named Matt Ryan. The firm of Ryan 
& Lang had driven cattle for years from Texas 
to the Eastern markets, and young Ryan had 



Our Troubles Begin 47 

grown up in the business. Besides that he 
and his partner had driven the pioneer herd 
from Oregon to Wyoming the year before, 
and of course he knew the ground. I shall 
always remember the kindness he showed us and 
the assistance he gave us when we really 
needed it. The first thing we had to do was 
to find out where to go to buy cattle, then how 
to get there, and what to do when we did get 
there. 

To ride off a hundred miles or two in a 
strange country and bring up in the place you 
start for, is not always easy. It was decided 
that Rand should go in one direction and I in 
another and. make a preliminary scout. 

As the first step, each bought a horse to 
ride and one to " pack " — that is, to carry our 
blankets and also serve as a spare horse. I 
spent two days learning how to make a " squaw 
hitch," which is a certain way of manipulating 
a rope so that it will hold one's belongings on 
the top side of an animal. Let me explain 
that the " squaw hitch " is only a makeshift 
and is never used by regular " packers." They 
" throw " the " diamond hitch," and when it is 
done by an earnest-minded member of a gov- 
ernment mule train you can bet the trigger of 
your gun that when that mule has bucked 



48 Bucking the Sagebrush 

his soul into eternity and lies down to rest 
that pack will be exactly where it was put 
originally. 

On the third day I said good-by to the 
crowd in front of the hotel at Walla-Walla 
and started for Pendleton, a town about forty- 
five miles southwest. I can assure you that 
I felt I was "it" about that time. At last I 
had realized my dream — everything was there, 
six-shooter and belt, McCarty (or hair rope), 
sombrero, etc., all except a rifle, and every- 
thing was very new. 

My spurs were really curiosities. I bought 
them from a young rancher I met at the livery 
stable. The crotch and shank were of brass, 
and the rowel was about three inches in diame- 
ter and was made from the steel blade of an 
ordinary hand-saw. On the outside of each 
spur attached to the pinions were two jangles 
which struck the rowel at every movement of 
my feet, and I therefore sounded like a string 
of sleighbells. This style of spur was indige- 
nous to Oregon. I never saw anything like 
them elsewhere. Mine, I regret to say, were 
stolen later on. My saddle-horse was a chunky- 
built red roan, and I named him Robin. 

The road to Pendleton was easy to find. I 
had only to stick to the main travelled high- 



Our Troubles Begin 49 

way. The only things bothering me were the 
pack-horse and the " squaw hitch." While en 
route I stopped with the idea of putting the 
load on more securely, and untied the pack. 
I then discovered that I had forgotten how to 
tie that blessed hitch. I wrestled physically 
and in spirit with that pack and the pack-horse 
for fully twenty miles. As a destroyer of 
mental happiness, a pack that insists upon 
slipping under the belly of the horse is only 
to be compared to a collar button that won 't 
connect with the button-hole. 

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon 
when I pulled up at the hotel in a place called 
Weston, and I was hungry. The only person 
in sight was a man scrubbing out the dining- 
room. He mutteringly agreed to give me 
something to eat, although it was after the 
dinner hour. At that time and place, em- 
bossed and painted bills of fare were not fash- 
ionable, but instead the " hash-slinger " (if a 
gentleman) or "biscuit-shooter" (if a lady) re- 
peated a list of the grub as piled, and the guest 
generally selected the whole pile. 

My friend brought me some soup which I 
ate greedily. He then began stammeringly to 
call the bill of fare, " B-b-bo-bo-boiled beef." 

I stood pat. 



50 Bucking the Sagebrush 

Again he began, " B-b-bo-bo-boiled beef." 
But this time he seemed a little cross. 

I said nothing in order to avoid embarras- 
sing him and waited for him to continue the 
list. But he stopped, and did n't even stutter. 

" Well, go on," I said encouragingly. 

" D-d-d-damn it, that's all there is," he sput- 
tered. 

I took boiled beef. 

Next morning I started out for Pendleton 
leaving my blankets and pack-horse to be 
picked up later on. Rather than imperil my 
chances of salvation by using language which 
that horse could understand I decided to run 
the risk of freezing to death. 



pi 



'^V 







CHAPTER V 
BUYING HORSES FROM POOR LO 

THE town of Pendleton was just on the 
border of the Umatilla reservation, and 
here I saw the noble red man on his native 
heath — blankets, beads, paint, and all. Indians 
were then, and always have been to me, objects 
of interest and amusement — and, at times, of 
what brave people call uneasiness, and I call 
downright scariness. 

An incident that happened a few weeks later 
on this same reservation goes to show that the 
" Siwash " is not as ingenuous and down-trodden 
as he is described by some very nice gentlemen 
and old maiden ladies who live in parts of the 
Eastern States, and who have had interviews 
with various well-informed Indians that fre- 
quent the station platforms on the trans-conti- 
nental railway lines. 

We needed saddle-horses for the trail, and 
had been advised to buy them from the Indians, 

51 



52 Bucking the Sagebrush 

as they had horses suited for our purpose and 
a large number of them. However, it was 
important first to get permission from the 
agent to trade with them, otherwise the title 
to the horse or horses might at any time be 
questioned, and in the following manner : 

I buy a horse from an Indian, either on or off 
the reservation, in good faith — that is, if I am 
new at the business. 

I put my saddle on him and ride gaily for 
perhaps thirty or forty miles, when I meet, as 
by chance, a red gentleman who looks sharply 
at my horse and then follows me in a noncha- 
lant way to my destination. He then appears 
with either a white man or a half-breed who 
speaks English, and I am told that the horse is 
his and has been stolen from him. He proves 
this by his brand. I am out my money and 
my horse. The money is divided on some 
well-understood basis between the Indian and 
white man, or capper, and all I get out of the 
transaction is an insight into the truthful and 
honorable character of "poor Lo." 

A guarantee from the agent goes as to titles, 
as he is the court of last resort where they are 
concerned. 

I called, therefore, on Agent, or rather Colo- 
nel, Pennoyer of the Umatilla tribe, and ex- 



Buying Horses from Poor Lo 53 

plained what I wanted. He was very civil 
and volunteered to send messages to horse 
owners, instructing them to bring those they 
wished to sell to a large corral on the Uma- 
tilla River, about fifteen miles from Pendleton, 
in a week's time. 

Before the day arrived, I had hired a ,very 
decent man, a native-born Oregonian named 
" Pres." Nail, to go with me as guide and 
interpreter. He spoke the Chinook lingo 
fluently, which was understood by almost all 
the Oregon and Washington tribes and spoken 
by a good many of them. It is the language 
invented by the Hudson Bay people years ago, 
and is a compound of Latin, French, Indian, 
and phonetics. I became quite proficient later 
with a little practice, and even to-day can re- 
member some sentences and their meanings. 
For instance : 

i 23456 

"Concha chicamen mika tika okook cuetan?" 
means 

1 23456 

" How much money you take that cayuse ?" 

Concha (Latin, quantus), chicamen (pho- 
netic sound of dollars clinked together), mika 
(probably Indian), tika (English, take), okook 
and cuetan (Indian). 



54 Bucking the Sagebrush 

Also, " Ka mika klatawa ? " " How far off ? " 
or "How far must I ride?" Here klatawa 
is phonetic, and describes the sound of horses' 
hoofs when galloping. 

Upon the advice of " Pres." Nail, I pur- 
chased two poor, scrawny little plugs in Pen- 
dleton to take us to the rendezvous. I think 
I paid six dollars apiece for them, and when 
they were saddled with the big California rigs 
they looked more like " thirty cents." 

We arrived at the corral about eight o'clock 
in the morning. Not an Indian or horse in 
sight. We dismounted, and as the sun be- 
came warm I dozed — a thing that comes nat- 
ural to a cowboy when not actively employed. 
I was awakened by the sound of a horse's 
hoofs, and looking up I saw approaching, 
astride of a miserable little pony even worse 
than ours, without saddle or bridle, with just 
a piece of rope around the under lip to guide 
with, a warrior bold — and about as handsome 
a specimen as I have ever seen. His blanket 
and leggings were white, with gay-colored 
stripes and figures ; his moccasins were a mass 
of beads. Around his head was a band of fur 
standing out like the rim of a hat, the top of 
his head making the crown. His face was 
painted. 



Buying Horses from Poor Lo 55 

When he came to where we were he pulled 
up suddenly, as if he had received the greatest 
surprise of his life, got off his pony and walked 
directly up to our horses and began to examine 
them closely. 

" Concha?" ( (< How much?") he asked 
in Chinook, pointing to the better animal, 
which was mine. He also indicated by signs 
that he wanted my fine California saddle and 
bridle. 

In the innocence of my heart I was about to 
suggest $60, which would have represented a 
conservative profit on the outfit. But Nail 
was before me. 

" Thirty dollars," he replied in Chinook. 

I had paid $45 for my saddle alone only a 
few weeks before, and my pony had cost $6. 
I felt utterly disgusted. However, I felt that 
something was up, and " held my hush." 

The warrior fumbled with his money pouch 
for a minute, took another look at the horse, 
shook his head and grunted in negative fashion. 
Then he leaped on his "whittledig" and disap- 
peared up the road. 

" What in the name of heaven do you mean 
by trying to put me afoot for $30, when this 
outfit is worth twice that?" I cried to Nail. 

My guide, philosopher, and friend took out 



56 Bucking the Sagebrush 

his tobacco bag and rolled a cigarette, eying 
me all the while with a smile of compassion. 

"Young feller," he said, "when you've 
bought as many hosses from Injuns as I have 
you won't git so brash the fust time they try a 
little shindy on you. But I put the kibosh on 
that buck's game — kumtucks ? " (understand ?) 

In the course of an hour I heard a rumbling 
noise, but as the banks rose abruptly from the 
river I could not see any distance. While 
trying to make out the cause I saw a horse's 
head appear on the sky-line, and then an 
avalanche of them came tearing down that 
bank. On the right flank, mounted on a 
superb pinto stallion, was our warrior in the 
white blanket. 

Nail then explained that the purpose of the 
Indian's first visit was to find out what value 
we put on horse-flesh. A practically new saddle 
and a horse for $30 made even that "Siwash" 
think, and I believe it must have brought 
the horse-market down at least $15 per. I 
know we bought some twenty or thirty head 
of fine animals at that time for an average 
price of $16. 

The band of horses which was driven in 
numbered probably five hundred head and was 
made up of all classes — young stallions and 



Buying Horses from Poor Lo 57 

mares with suckling colts, yearlings and others. 
In fact, it was a round-up, and after we made 
our purchases they started in to mark, brand, 
and alter the young stock. 

I then had an opportunity to witness a per- 
formance which shows the inborn cruelty and 
love of gore of the red man, even the most 
peaceable. I do not blame them, as cruelty is 
a racial trait, but I often wonder how people 
expect to change an Indian into a white man 
by a three years' training at Hampton or some 
other similar institution. My understanding 
is that it has taken three thousand years to 
bring the average United States Senator or 
Congressman to his present state of perfect 
intelligence and purity, and therefore the red 
men must have just 2997 more years of intelli- 
gence and purity before they can accomplish 
their transformation. 

They first built a large fire in the middle of 
the corral and then every buck got out of his 
blanket. As the work progressed and they 
warmed up, other articles, such as shirts and 
loose articles of ornament, were shed. Their 
leggings in most cases were left on, for the 
simple reason that they were sewn on for 
keeps, but I noticed two or three of them 
stripped to the skin with the exception of the 



58 Bucking the Sagebrush 

breech-clout. Three or four did the roping, 
and the rest helped to brand or tend the fire, 
while two did the castrating and ear-marking. 

The corral was probably 400 or 500 x 150 
feet, oblong in shape, and very stoutly built of 
logs and poles. You can perhaps imagine the 
scene : Four or five hundred horses mad with 
fear rushing around and around this enclosure, 
the dust rising in clouds, the yells of the In- 
dians and their helpers as they threw a victim 
mingling with the neighs of the terror-stricken 
mares that had lost their foals, the stallions 
showing their resentment at this treatment by 
fighting each other ; the glint of the bodies of 
the ropers, as they rushed about swinging their 
lariats, gleaming in the sun with sweat and 
the blood from the poor brutes they had 
mutilated. 

It was a picture full of action, but far from 
refining. The most harrowing thing to me 
was to see the poor little colts, perhaps not 
more than three or four months old, running 
about on three legs, the fourth having been 
broken like a pipe-stem. If opportunity pre- 
sented, they would be dodged through the gate 
onto the prairie and there left until they died 
from hunger and thirst. It is against the In- 
dian religion to kill a horse. When they got 



Buying Horses from Poor Lo 59 

through with that day's work, I saw several 
dead in the corral and five with broken legs 
outside. I had the satisfaction of shooting 
two, and hope some one put the others out of 
their misery. 

Among the young horses that were altered, 
there was a certain percentage too scrubby for 
any self-respecting buck to ride, and these were 
marked for squaw- or pack-horses. After 
branding them, they would split their ears and 
then cut off all the mane and tail to make their 
ropes with. Then, if they happened to be 
white or yellow in color they would be smeared 
from head to tail with the blood that came 
from their various lacerations. All of these 
operations were accompanied by violent fits of 
laughter. 

I also noticed that one of the veterinary 
surgeons, whenever a particularly fine-looking 
animal came under his knife, would take a 
handful of its blood and rub it on his chest and 
stomach. 

What percentage of the animals died I 
don't know, but it must have been large. The 
work is done with ordinary butcher knives, and 
the only preventive against hemorrhage was a 
handful of dry, pulverized manure grabbed at 
random from the floor of the corral. 



60 Bucking the Sagebrush 

I decided to drive our horses directly across 
country to Walla-Walla, and thereby save 
about twenty miles. It was getting late when 
we started, but Nail knew of a corral owned by 
the old chief of the tribe, whose name sounded 
like Howlis Wamp Ho, on McKay Creek, 
about ten miles on our road, where we could 
put the horses overnight. He said nothing 
about anything to eat or a place to sleep, but 
I did not care to seem tender, and made no 
objection. 

Barring a cold lunch which we had brought 
from town, I had had nothing since about 5 : 30 
that morning, and I tell you it looked a long 
way to the next grub pile. 

Among other accomplishments, I had ac- 
quired that of chewing tobacco, and I found it 
a very good thing wherewith to dull the gnaw- 
ing of hunger. We reached the corral of 
Howlis Wamp Ho about dusk, and drove our 
horses in. Nail then noticed some tepees 
about a quarter of a mile up the stream, and 
suggested trying for food and lodging. We 
found that chief Howlis Wamp Ho was there. 
Nail knew the old man well. We were asked 
to get down, and in short order had our horses 
picketed and were all ready for food. Nail 
warned me not leave anything small — such as a 



Buying Horses from Poor Lo 61 

knife or pipe or handkerchief — about if I cared 
to see it again. Our red friends had a trick of 
squatting over any stray article, with the skirts 
of the blankets covering it. When they got 
up, the story was told. The " vanishing lady " 
had always reminded me of this act. 

For supper we had bread, meat, and coffee. 
I have eaten worse in farmhouses in Nebraska. 
I '11 admit that the bread was a bit gritty in 
places, but it was satisfying to a youngster that 
had starved for twelve hours. We slept in a 
tepee and had a buffalo robe under and over us. 
The prevailing smell was of buckskin — anyone 
who has ever smelt an Indian moccasin knows 
the odor. It is not unpleasant. Two bucks, an 
old squaw, and a young one also occupied the 
tepee. What the family relationship was I 
don't know. Their treatment was distinctly 
hospitable, although, as I afterwards learned, 
they had a lively appreciation of favors to 
come. 

In the morning we had breakfast at about 
sun-up — same menu. I presented the old 
chief with a battered meerschaum pipe with an 
amber mouthpiece. The amber caught him, 
and I have no doubt was soon made into beads 
and was probably buried with him when he died. 
A red silk neck-handkerchief, some tobacco, 



62 Bucking the Sagebrush 

and a few dollars in silver paid the bill for 
our food and lodging, the use of the corral, 
and the service of about ten young bucks to 
assist us in getting our horses well strung out on 
the road. 

To get a bunch of strange horses, especially 
Indian cayuses, started in the right direction 
when they are hungry and thirsty and know 
they are being driven from their usual haunts, 
is an undertaking that would start the beads 
of perspiration on Napoleon's brow. I always 
felt that that pipe and handkerchief paid for 
a good day's work. 

To the automobilist, I would explain, that 
each one of the horses in that corral was ready 
to run in a different direction with the idea in 
his head that he was a stake horse beating the 
record. When the bars were let down, the 
horses made a dash for liberty. The Indians 
meantime had taken off their blankets and 
sat on their horses directly opposite the exit, 
about one hundred yards distant, whirling the 
blankets around their heads. As soon as the 
leaders were well out, the bucks began a circle 
about them, edging away gradually from the 
corral. 

After the ponies had run round in a circle 
at top speed for perhaps five minutes, kept in 



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Buying Horses from Poor Lo 63 

a bunch by the sight of the waving blankets, 
they gradually came to a stand. Then three 
Indians started ahead in the direction we 
wanted to go and the rest of us brought up 
the rear and flanks. This formation continued 
for a few miles, until we came to water. After 
the horses had satisfied their thirst, we let 
them browse for a while and then started them 
on. The Indians left us and we had no more 
trouble on that trip. 

A couple of months later, when the war 
broke out, these Umatilla Indians fought with 
the whites and did some splendid work. 







CHAPTER VI 

MORE TRIBULATIONS 

THE manner of buying or contracting to 
buy cattle, which held at that time, would 
have given the average Eastern business man 
an attack of nervous prostration. My experi- 
ence in company with Balch, one of the other 
partners, who had recently come up from 
Laramie, while travelling through Umatilla, 
Union, and Wasco counties to gather up a 
herd, will give some idea of the conditions. 
.It must be borne in mind that neither bank- 
notes nor checks were of any value ; to do 
business it was either put up gold or silver or 
else "jawbone." 

When we arrived in any particular section 
where cattle were to be had, the first thing 
was to find the man that owned the most cat- 
tle, and make a contract with him. Then the 
smaller owners, whose stock ranged with his, 
nearly always would fall into line. This cattle- 

6 4 



More Tribulations 65 

king had to be diplomatically handled and his 
friendship won, otherwise time was wasted. 

I have seen Balch, who was over six feet 
and as ignorant of a nurse-maid's duties as 
possible, walk up and down the floor of a 
small cabin dandling a squalling baby in order 
to make friends with the wife of an influential 
native, thereby winning the husband and in- 
cidentally giving the woman a chance to cook 
us some supper. 

I remember on one occasion when he tried 
his blandishments on the baby in order to 
win its father. That infant must have eaten 
green apples, for its colicky wails were deafen- 
ing and incessant. I could stand it no longer. 

ik Excuse me, Balch," I said, "but I think I'll 
go out and look after the horses." 

44 For God's sake, don't leave me alone !" he 
cried. " I believe this damned thing is going 
to have a fit." 

We could find out approximately how many 
head of the different classes they thought they 
could gather and deliver at a certain specified 
place and time, and then we would pay down 
either a dollar or two dollars a head, according 
to the circumstances, in order to bind the bar- 
gain. We usually figured on two thirds of the 
estimated number being delivered. We would 



66 Bucking the Sagebrush 

then mutually sign a paper, and that was all we 
had to show for the money advanced. On the 
other hand, if the ranchers went to all the 
trouble and expense to gather and deliver 
their stock at the rendezvous (which was some- 
times at a distance of fifty or sixty miles from 
their range), and we were not there to receive 
them or had not the money to pay for them, 
then they would be the sufferers. I think we 
had the long end, because, as a rule, the farmers 
of any standing generally took our assurances 
and a letter from our bankers as sufficient 
security. Of course there generally would be 
five or six fellows who wanted to see the color 
of our money, and as they almost always had 
the finest cattle, we had to come to time. 

Between us we would carry about $2000 in 
gold and silver, and as our stock ran out we 
were obliged to ride to the nearest stage line 
and have more shipped by express from Walla- 
Walla. 

At that time there was an epidemic of diph- 
theria throughout that whole section. It at- 
tacked very young and half-grown children in 
most cases, although there had been several 
deaths among adults. As we were living on 
the country, we stopped wherever hunger or 
night overtook us, provided there was any 



More Tribulations 67 

habitation in sight. We were quite often 
warned off on account of sickness in the 
ranch. 

One day we started early, expecting a long 
ride across a low spur of the Blue Mountains. 
It began to rain and we lost the trail, but as 
that was an everyday occurrence we kept on in 
the general direction. The storm grew worse, 
and finally my horse got mired and broke him- 
self down over the kidneys, and there we were. 
I got off and led him. Somewhere about five 
in the afternoon we found a wagon road, and 
I suggested to Balch that he ride ahead and 
see where we were and what show there was 
for a night's rest. 

I kept plodding along slowly, and finally it 
got plumb dark. I was soaked and hungry, 
but luckily had some chewing tobacco. It was 
useless to try to light a fire as everything was 
drenched, and I had about made up my mind 
that it was an all-night job, when I heard old 
Balch yelling. I answered and pretty soon 
he appeared, or rather did not appear, except 
as to his voice and the quash of his horse's 
feet in the mud. He had found a shack about 
two miles away, off the road, and he thought 
he could find it again. 

That was the longest two miles I ever 



68 Bucking the Sagebrush 

walked. We found the cabin somewhere near 
morning, it seemed to me. After some talk, a 
boy eighteen years old let us in. He had lit a 
candle, and by its light I saw we were in a one- 
roomed cabin, about twenty-five feet square, 
with a fireplace at one end and some bunks at 
the other, curtained off with calico like a sleep- 
ing-car. There were also a cook-stove, table, 
dresser, chairs, and a cradle — empty. Every- 
thing looked clean and the cabin evidently had 
only just been built. I saw by the clock it was 
about nine o'clock. He explained that the barn 
was not built, but we could tie our horses un- 
der the lee of a haystack. 

We unsaddled and returned to find that the 
boy had started the fire and was preparing 
some coffee and food. I was about done up. 
While we were eating, he told us that the baby 
and a young brother had died the day before, 
that his sister was just recovering (she was in 
one of the bunks), and that his father and 
mother had gone to the nearest settlement 
with the bodies of the children to bury them. 

Balch and I slept on the floor in front of the 
fire. I can truthfully say that rather than have 
slept out-of-doors that night I should have 
taken chances of getting the bubonic plague. 
Most of the ranchers buried their dead on some 



More Tribulations 69 

knoll near the house, protecting the grave from 
the coyotes or wolves by heaping stones on it, 
and if they could get a carpenter they would 
place a frame with high palings on top. Almost 
every ranch we passed had one or more of 
these sad signs. 

Another experience a few days later was, 
I thought, amusing. We brought up at a ranch 
about nightfall, and were told that although 
they would give us something to eat they 
could not take us in, as they had some 
women visitors. We were shown the barn, 
however, and on investigation found a loft full 
of hay. That was too good for us. So imme- 
diately after supper we turned in, using our 
saddle blankets for a covering. Our schedule 
time for getting to sleep after stretching out 
was usually about one second, and this was 
no exception. I woke up in the middle of the 
night with terrible pains in my back and side 
and could get no relief no matter how I 
turned. I could hear Balch thrashing about 
in the same way. 

" What 's the matter ?" I asked. 

" I ve got some awful pains in my back and 
side," he answered. 

" Same here," I said. " What in the world 
does it mean ? " 



70 Bucking the Sagebrush 

" It may be we 're getting diphtheria," sug- 
gested Balch. 

" I believe it 's rheumatism and inflamma- 
tion of the kidneys," I advanced. " It must 
be, with that soaking we had the other day." 

But nothing could keep us awake. We 
dozed through until daybreak, suffering tor- 
ture and with all kinds of horrible dreams. 

In the morning, after attending to our 
horses, we breakfasted, and although feeling 
better we were still very sore. When it came 
time for our departure, we climbed to the loft to 
get our saddle blankets and then discovered 
the cause of our suffering. There was a cross- 
beam or stringer which had been covered 
by about two feet of loose hay, and of 
course was not visible. We had lain down in 
such a manner that the beam was in the small 
of our backs, and as the weight of our bodies 
packed the hay, the beam came into prominence 
so that all night long we were virtually hanging 
across it with our heads and heels down. 

It is claimed that a billiard table makes a 
fairly hard bed, but I will take it in preference 
— imagination cuts some figure too. I don't 
think either of us could have been considered 
hipped about our health, yet we both were dead 
sure that the hospital stared us in the face. 



CHAPTER VII 
WE LEAVE WALLA-WALLA 

AFTER making contracts for all the cattle 
that we had money to pay for, we re- 
turned to headquarters at Walla-Walla and be- 
gan preparing our outfit for the trail. It was 
customary for the drovers to supply every- 
thing except the men's bedding. A properly 
equipped outfit for driving a herd of from 
2000 to 3000 head of cattle consisted of a 
wagon rigged for four horses, with hoops and 
cover, a mess box in the tail, and a water 
barrel on the side, with necessary camping 
utensils and tin dishes, etc., for from twelve 
to fourteen men. This number included the 
cook, who also acted as teamster for the 
mess wagon, and the horse-herder, also known 
as the " cavarango " or " horse-wrangler." 

Each man was supplied with a saddle, bridle, 
saddle-blanket, and forty feet of rope. It was 
not the rule to hire a man who owned his horse 

71 



72 Bucking the Sagebrush 

and saddle, as it made him independent of his 
employer should any difference of opinion 
arise. In other words, when the herd was 
once started and several days out, or twenty 
miles or more from a town or settlement, any 
cowboy would think twice before throwing up 
his job, packing his blankets on his back, and 
returning afoot for that distance. The longer 
the distance and the lonelier the country, the 
greater hold you had on your men. Horse- 
stealing was a very ticklish business in those 
days, and things would have to be pretty bad 
before recourse was had to it. 

If a man wanted to quit, he was permit- 
ted to do so at the first opportunity, but 
hands, especially good ones, were very scarce, 
and we had to take some measures to prevent 
our being left alone with the herd on the 
trail. 

Each man was supposed to have from seven 
to twelve horses in his " string." That is, each 
man had so many horses to do his work with, 
driving and herding, both by night and day. We 
found it an economy to have plenty of horses, 
both from a money standpoint and that of the 
wear and tear on the temper. The work at 
its easiest is hard, and, as the ponies rely en- 
tirely upon what they find on the prairie for 



We Leave Walla- Walla 73 

their sustenance, it takes a tough one to get 
through without resembling a skeleton. 

There is, of course, a tremendous difference 
in the way men handle their mounts, and you 
will find one man's string in good shape, and 
another's gone all to pieces with the same 
amount of work. It all means that the latter 
worries and unnecessarily overworks his horses, 
and nine cases out of ten you will find he gives 
them sore backs. 

I presume most of the drovers that year had 
the same experience with the " hired man " as 
we had, and it was delightful. We tried at 
first to hire the native cow-puncher, but none 
seemed willing to go the whole distance with 
us, and we could not make any half-way con- 
tract, as we did not know what conditions 
awaited us farther down the trail. 

Our men, when lined up, looked more like a 
ship's crew, picked up along the docks of a sea- 
port, than a cowboy outfit. There were only 
one or two of them that had ever been on the 
trail or knew what cattle-driving meant, and 
about half of them, at the start, could not 
saddle and bridle a horse properly, let alone 
ride one. Our outfit included an ex-soldier, a 
Methodist preacher, a stage-driver, two pros- 
pectors, and several farmers' boys, a lumber- 



74 Bucking the Sagebrush 

man, and a dry-goods clerk. They came from 
every State in the Union and had drifted up 
the coast from California, looking for some 
place, I presume, where they could live with- 
out work. We got rid of all but three of the 
men we started with, before we had been out 
two months, and a more worthless set of tramps 
never struck the prairie. The three men we 
kept turned out to be splendid men and worked 
for us for several years following. We paid our 
hands $40 a month with grub. The cook got 
$60, and a good one was worth it, but the only 
one we ever found that was worthy of the name 
was such a crank that we could not keep him. 
We had quite a lot of amusement during the 
time we had been hiring hands in testing the 
horsemanship of the applicants for work and 
at the same time proving that " all men are 
liars." The first question we asked a man 
when he applied for a job was whether he 
could ride. Of course each and every man 
acknowledged the soft impeachment with dif- 
ferent degrees of boastfulness. The unsuspect- 
ing victim was then invited, if he looked at all 
promising, to walk over to the stable with the 
ostensible purpose of picking out a saddle and 
bridle that he thought would suit his particu- 
lar style. 



We Leave Walla- Walla 75 

In the band of horses was a small chunky, 
crop-eared, wall-eyed, black cayuse named 
Tom. When a rope was thrown on him, he 
would express his anger and contempt by snort- 
ing, but beyond this he appeared gentle enough. 
The term " gentle " is used in a comparative 
sense. Any horse that had been saddled, 
bridled, and ridden three or four times was 
called "gentle," to distinguish him from a 
green one or an outlaw. A green, or unbrok- 
en, horse is, of course, an unknown quantity. 
An outlaw, or spoiled horse, is one that is in- 
corrigibly vicious, either by temperament or 
because he has been made so from unskilful 
or brutal handling when being broken. 

Tom was neither an outlaw nor green. He 
simply objected to being disturbed, and showed 
it by first winning the confidence and affection 
of his rider and then bucking him into the 
middle of the following week at an oppor- 
tune moment. He was somewhat like Mark 
Twain's mule, who was good for fourteen 
years just to get a chance to kick a man's 
head off. He would stand quietly while be- 
ing saddled and walk around the enclosure in 
a hesitating way, as though he really was 
afraid that the man on his back might fall off. 
Naturally, the rider, if a little timid, gained 



76 Bucking the Sagebrush 

confidence, and the more his fear was relieved, 
the greater his air of assurance. 

At about this stage of the performance, a 
gate leading into a back street was opened and 
the caballero was told to start him on a lope. 
Some accommodating spectator would lend a 
quirt, as none of the candidates had spurs, and 
then the circus began. I don't think one 
of all those that tried rode that horse down 
the lane and back properly. Some were not 
thrown to the ground, but their efforts to stay 
on the top side were even more ludicrous than 
the sprawling kicks of the others when landed 
on their backs. These trials served the pur- 
pose, however, and prevented our being both- 
ered at all times, day and night, by men looking 
for a job. 

We put a man named Brown in as sort of 
under-foreman. He turned out to be the 
worst of the lot. Brown could talk more and 
do less than any man in the outfit. He was a 
" variegated and inconsequential liar," as Foss, 
the ex-Methodist preacher, called him, and he 
gave us a good deal of trouble before we 
finally got rid of him. 

I had a chance at the time to let people 
know that I was the easiest thing in the Ter- 
ritory, and I certainly did so. To make a long 



We Leave Walla- Walla 77 

story short, I was buncoed into paying a fancy 
price for a pair of draught-horses for our 
wagon, only to find that they absolutely would 
not "pull the hat off your head," as the ex- 
stage driver remarked. In my innocence and 
ignorance I imagined that if four average-sized 
horses could pull a certain load, two exception- 
ally large horses could do the same. In the 
absence of Rand, the partner with the mule 
ranch experience, I bought them on my own 
judgment, two days before the date of our pro- 
posed departure, had them shod — I found out 
afterwards they had corns, quarter-cracks, and 
every other deformity of hoof — and fitted with 
new harness. 

The next day they were hitched to the brand- 
new red-wheeled wagon (empty), with a green 
box and white wagon sheet, and I drove them 
about the town in triumph. The horses 
stood about i6£ hands, and weighed, I should 
say, about 1250 pounds each. One was a blue 
roan and the other a red. I gave $350 for the 
span. I will explain that even had the horses 
been true workers they would have starved on 
the trail in about a month, owing to their size, 
or else we should have been obliged to haul 
oats to feed them with. 

I have forgotten the exact date of our 



7% Bucking the Sagebrush 

departure from Walla-Walla, but it was on 
Saturday afternoon, about the middle of April, 
1878. Our saddle-horses were held in a cor- 
ral back of a livery stable near the west end 
of the town. I first started the wagon, driven 
by the cook, out of town about two o'clock, 
and then got my men together. We all 
mounted and rode to the corral where the 
loose horses were held. I posted the men 
so as to hold them together and tried the 
manoeuvre which the Indians had shown us, 
as described above. 

To this day I can't explain what happened, 
but in a jiffy there was not a horse to be seen. 
Have you ever poured quicksilver on a smooth 
floor? Well, those horses scattered through 
the streets of Walla-Walla in just about the 
same manner. The citizen onlookers tried, of 
course, to head them off, but only made mat- 
ters worse, as they did not know in which di- 
rection we wanted to go. One or two of the 
riders had been bucked off, their animals seem- 
ingly having entered thoroughly into the spirit 
of the thing, and altogether we were in a 
mess. 

At the end of three hours, and with the help 
of a large number of volunteers, we finally 
gathered on the prairie, about a mile out, all of 



We Leave Walla-Walla 79 

the bunch but ten or twelve head, and started 
them towards the place where we had decided 
to make camp. 

With two men on fresh horses I returned to 
hunt those that were missing. I felt sure that 
we had seen the last of them, and you can im- 
agine my relief when I learned that they were 
all back in the corral. A couple of native 
punchers had run across them, and, recogniz- 
ing our road-brand (a figure 7 on the left shoul- 
der), they knew they were strays and brought 
them in. It was too late to stop for them, so 
I hurried back to where I supposed the camp 
would be, some ten miles out on the road to 
Pendleton, which was our objective point. 
About midway I overtook the outfit, and then 
I knew what trouble really meant. 

The road to that point had been a gently 
descending grade, so that all my fine-grained 
draught-horses had to do was to keep out of 
the way of the wagon. This they managed to 
do and everything seemed to the cook to be 
rosy, until, alas ! they came to a dry slough 
with a steep uptake on the far side, and that 
is just where I found them — stalled. The 
cook was alone when he came to anchor, as 
we were all playing-hide-and-seek with the 
horses through the streets of Walla-Walla, 



5 c Buckine the Sagebrush 



■^ 



and for nearly three hours he had been 
arguing with my $350 pets. When the boys 
overtook him, of course each knew a trick 
guaranteed to start a balk}- horse, and from 
the looks of things I think everything from a 
rawhide to a bonfire had been tried, but with- 
out producing the desired result 

To make matters more interesting, it was 
discovered that no one had filled the water 
barrel, and as we happened to be a mile or 
two from anvthinor that looked like water, the 
prospect for supper was most dismal. 

To add to my chagrin, Rand met us while 
on his way to Walla-Walla, and had an oppor- 
tunity to see what a valuable purchase I had 
made. It is an actual fact that, after entirely 
unloading the wagon and hitching to it ropes, 
on which four ponies pulled by the horn of the 
saddle, we were just able to get the team out 
of the slouch and haul them to one side of the 
road. I was tempted to shoot them both on 
the spot, but restrained myself, although I be- 
lieve it would have been a merciful thin or. We 
traded them off about a month later and came 
out nearlv even, but I hate to think of the beat- 
ings those poor brutes must have suffered be- 
fore they were finally clubbed to death by some 
irate farmer. 



We Leave Walla- Walla 81 

The men rode on to the nearest farm where 
they could corral their horses and get supper. 
Rand, my partner, hurried into Walla-Walla 
to purchase some other work horses, and the 
cook and I stayed with the wagon. We had 
"sowbelly" straight for supper. My reflec- 
tions that evening were, to say the least, som- 
bre. Everything seemed to be hopelessly 
against us. I was ignorant of how things 
should be done ; most of the men were even 
more so ; my confidence in myself had had a 
bad jolt on account of my horse deal, and on 
top of it I was tired out and hungry. More- 
over, the sly nudges and grins told me I had 
lost standing with my men. If some good 
fairy had come along just then and offered me 
the position of sweeper-out in almost any old 
office in Boston, I should have " set the road 
afire " in my haste to get there. 

At daybreak the next morning, one of the 
boys came back from the ranch to stand guard 
over the wagon, and the cook and I rode over 
for breakfast. I don't think I ever enjoyed a 
drink of cold water as much before. The fried 
salt pork we ate for supper had had its effect, 
and it had been such a long stretch without 
moisture from the afternoon before, that we 
were well tuned up. Things looked brighter 



82 Bucking the Sagebrush 

after we had relieved our physical wants, and 
by noon we were on the march again. 

Rand was successful in getting a new team, 
which turned out to be a good one and lasted 
the whole way through to Laramie. We then 
set out for the first point where we were to 
gather up our herd of cattle. Before we had 
been on the road two days every man had a 
nickname and likewise every horse. I can re- 
member some of them, and give them to show 
the poetic temperament of this particular outfit. 
There was Braska (diminutive for Nebraska), 
Doughboy Jim (the ex-soldier), the Parson 
(Methodist preacher), Bilius, Texas, Doctor 
(the cook), Raas, and Chubb. Some of the 
names given the horses were as follows: Shake- 
speare, Loud-skin, One-eyed Riley, Peacock, 
Stargazer, George Washington, Yellow, White- 
bird, Tolerablefat, Strawberry, Gold -note, 
Baker-City, Calico, Straight-edge, Stump, Nel- 
lie Bly, Appaloosie, Coalie Buffalo, and Rattler. 







CHAPTER VIII 

RECEIVING THE CATTLE 

OUR first rendezvous for the purpose of 
receiving and paying for our cattle was 
scheduled to take place at Gorman's ranch, on 
the John Day's River in Wasco County, about 
eighty miles as the crow flies west of Pendle- 
ton, and nine miles above Scott's Bridge. By 
the road from Walla-Walla it must have been 
at least 1 60 miles. We pressed on as fast as we 
could with our band of horses, but our speed was 
accelerated by another motive than the mere 
wish to keep an engagement by a certain day. 
For some time there had been rumors of 
trouble with the Indians to the eastward of us, 
but they were so vague and we were so busy 
about other things that we paid little attention 
to them. About a week before we left Walla- 
Walla, our friend Ryan of the firm of Ryan & 
Lang came in from the south and reported 
that things were looking very promising for 

83 



84 Bucking the Sagebrush 

an outbreak on the part of the Bannock and 
Shoshone (or Snake) Indians from their reser- 
vation, at Fort Hall, Idaho. Ryan was not 
an alarmist, nor had he any romantic illusions 
in regard to our red brothers and therefore 
his statements were to be relied upon. Upon 
his advice we applied to the officer in command 
of Fort Walla-Walla for a military escort 
across the continent. We realized that we 
might just as well have asked King Edward 
for the loan of a troop of Coldstream guards 
to escort us across South Africa, so we were 
not cast down by the refusal. 

I suppose at the time there were two hun- 
dred soldiers at Fort Walla-Walla, so if an 
escort had been given to each herd on the 
trail — they numbered probably ten or twelve 
that summer — those left to subdue the enemy 
would not have been overwhelming. 

It may be instructive to some of the mem- 
bers of peace societies, and likewise the 
British War Office, to be told that at that 
time the Territories of Washington and Idaho, 
northern Nevada and western Wyoming, and 
the eastern half of the State of Oregon — which, 
roughly speaking, measured between six and 
seven hundred miles square and on which there 
were some fourteen or fifteen tribes of Indians, 



Receiving the Cattle 85 

supposedly on reservations — were policed by 
possibly two thousand officers and soldiers of 
the United States Army. They were stationed 
at about a dozen forts (so-called) in bunches 
of from fifty to two hundred men, and separa- 
ted by hundreds of miles of mountain ranges 
and alkali deserts with unfordable rivers and 
lava beds thrown in, and no means of trans- 
portation but the army wagon and pack mule. 
And yet this handful of Uncle Sam's boys kept 
things in fairly good order. This fact is more 
remarkable in that I believe that every time 
an Indian was killed it was an even chance 
that the officer in command would be court- 
martialled for daring to harm one of the wards 
of the nation. 

The gallant and laborious service rendered 
by the regulars on the frontier from 1865 to 
1885 has never been sufficiently recognized or 
appreciated by the people of the United States, 
and never will be. One reason, I suppose, 
for this is, that at that time uniforms with 
fancy facings were not worn, and the army 
was not officered by leading citizens from the 
Eastern States. I saw some troops of the 
Second Cavalry when they returned to Fort 
Saunders from the campaign against the Sioux 
(under General Crook in 1876). They had 



86 Bucking the Sagebrush 

been out all summer and half the winter and 
had been reduced to a mule meat diet for 
some six weeks. Their horses were skin and 
bone and I doubt if there was a whole pair of 
trousers in the command ; but they struck me 
as being just about ripe enough to pick, from a 
fighting standpoint. 

The military escort being denied us, we 
requisitioned the Government for arms and 
ammunition to defend ourselves. These also 
were denied us ; I don't remember for what 
reason. Finally through Ryan's good offices 
we succeeded in getting 15 rifles and 2000 
rounds of ammunition. Those guns and that 
ammunition were the cause of more anxiety 
than the Indians. They were what were 
called needle guns, or old Springfield rifles 
that probably had been issued towards the end 
of the Civil War. I don't know what they 
had been used for in the meantime, but the 
sights were generally gone and they were in a 
generally dilapidated condition. The ammu- 
nition was packed in two boxes and as it was 
often necessary to unload our wagon to get it 
over a steep part of the trail, the boxes became 
a source of much merriment and discomfort 
to those who had to carry them up the hill 
on their backs. 



Receiving the Cattle Sy 

Gorman's ranch was so-named after the 
senior owner. He was a character and had 
some peculiar habits. One of his idiosyncra- 
sies was to roam about clad in nothing but a 
night-gown, a big straw hat, and top boots. 
When very warm from work, he would throw 
the tail of his night-gown over his head and 
stand in the breeze. He was very stout and 
swore like a pirate, but, withal, was very kind 
hearted and hospitable. 

His partner, Sweet, was well named. He was 
the housekeeper, and everything was as neat as 
wax. These two old fellows had been " pards " 
for twenty odd years and they acted more like 
a married couple than two men. They had 
fruit of all kinds in the orchard and garden, 
and every year Sweet made his preserves and 
pickles just like an old Pennsylvania Dutch 
farmer's wife. I had occasion to stop several 
times with them and those preserves left a 
lasting impression, as did also the number of 
rattlesnakes in the vicinity of their ranch. 

The country is broken with steep cliffs of 
lava rock, out of which bubble springs of clear 
water. This combination makes the snakes' 
paradise. At midday, when the sun beat down 
and warmed the rocks, the reptiles would come 
out by the hundred to bask. This was 



88 Bucking the Sagebrush 

especially so that spring when the nights were 
still chilly. There was one place on the road 
about half-way between Scott's Bridge and the 
ranch, where one actually could smell them. At 
least, I never could account for the peculiar 
sour and sickening odor that hung about this 
spot in any other way. The rocks on the face 
of the bluff seemed to wriggle with them. Dur- 
ing all my stay in that locality, I thought con- 
tinually of this vermin, and many a time have 
I gone without a drink of water from a spring, 
because I did not dare get off my horse in the 
long grass. 

When we made camp, on our arrival near 
this ranch, the cook immediately burnt the old 
grass from about a spring, and I heard the 
boys say afterwards that they killed quite a 
number of snakes that were driven out by the 
flames. I never got accustomed to reptiles, 
although I have lived more or less in countries 
where they were a staple article, and I believe 
I share with every other man that has slept 
on the prairie the belief that one should stop 
and kill a snake, no matter if he is running 
from a sheriff's posse. 

The cattle we were to receive and brand at 
this point came from the Willamette River or 
Webfoot Country. The term " Webfoot " was 



Receiving the Cattle 89 

given to the settlers west of the Cascades 
range of mountains. The reason was that 
there was so much rain and mud in this sec- 
tion that feet webbed like those of a duck were 
necessary to keep on top of the ground and also 
to enable one to cross the innumerable sloughs. 
The " Webfeet " were looked down upon by 
those who lived and grazed their herds of sheep 
and cattle on the high " tableaus " of central 
and eastern Oregon and Washington Terri- 
tory very much in the same manner that a 
Highlander regards with contempt the farmer 
of the Lowlands. 

The cattle we had contracted for had been 
driven about one hundred miles. They num- 
bered about seven hundred steer-cattle of all 
ages, from yearlings to five-year-olds, and 
there were some twenty or thirty owners. 
The corrals were small and flimsy affairs, only 
built to hold horses or milk cows and, alto- 
gether, the problem as to how we were to 
sort, grade, and brand this number seemed 
difficult, not to say hopeless, to our inex- 
perienced minds. We tackled the job, how- 
ever, as we did everything else, with an outward 
air of perfect confidence, not to say supercili- 
ousness, but with eyes and ears wide open for 
tips. 



9° Bucking the Sagebrush 

After taking a week to do what could have 
been done easily in a couple of days by any 
one knowing how, we drove off in triumph, 
leaving the impression (we hoped) that we 
had been born on the opposite side of a cactus 
bush from a Texas steer, and had been fed on 
raw hide rope and alkali water, and could 
pretty nearly call the turn on the age of any- 
thing barring a parrot or an elephant. 

This is the way we worked it : Rand was set- 
tled upon to call ages. I kept tally, and the 
branding was left to the only Brown. To 
the uninitiated I will explain that a cow-brute 
shows its age in two ways — by its teeth and 
horns. The teeth are infallible, but one must 
have a quick eye and be a good judge of size 
to be sure by the other method. As a wild 
steer does not show its teeth on request — and 
it would be a long and difficult task to look at 
them by force — the horns are taken as evi- 
dence, except where opinions between buyer 
and seller differ, and then the animal is thrown 
or tied up and his mouth examined. 

It may surprise some persons to learn that 
a cow has no upper front teeth. A calf has a 
full set of small or milk teeth in the lower jaw ; 
when a yearling, it gets two large ones in the 
centre of the lower jaw and two more each 



Receiving the Cattle 91 

year until it has eight, or a full mouth, and it 
is then five years old. The horns at a year 
old show an inch or two out of the hide ; at 
two, there is usually an enlargement or button 
on the end ; at three, the horn is smooth and 
perfect, and at four it shows a ring at the butt. 
Each year after that another ring appears, 
showing the growth of the horn. Where a 
calf has been allowed to run as a bull for over 
a year, the horns become heavier and coarser, 
as does also the head, and the animal becomes 
"staggy" and is not considered to be worth as 
much as a clean-headed steer. 

Then we had to look out for what were 
known as " churn dash " calves, or those be- 
longing to milk cows and which had not had 
the full benefit of the mother's milk. They 
show scrawny and wizened alongside of the 
range cattle and they too are sold at a dis- 
count. You can see that it is no easy thing 
to note all these characteristics while the brute 
is struggling in a chute or else tearing by on a 
dead run. 

The most satisfactory way to age and classify 
wild cattle is to run them through a chute or 
V-shaped lane, built of logs and poles long 
enough to hold eisdit or ten head at a time ; 
you can walk on a platform and get a close 



92 Bucking the Sagebrush 

look at their heads, and it also enables you to 
see what brands they have, a necessary thing, 
as by the brands the owners are known. We 
had no such rigging at this time, so we had to 
cut off little bunches from the main herd and 
put them in a small circular corral, from the 
top rail of which the horns and brands were 
examined and their owners and age recorded 
except in case of disagreement. About every 
other animal being the cause of an argument, 
a detailed history of its birth and parentage, 
with an anecdote or two of its early youth and 
adolescence became necessary, to fortify the 
position of the claimant, so it can readily be 
seen how the week was spent. 

I kept tally of the brands, and that, too, 
was an interesting experience, as showing how 
a man can distort his vision. It was quite a 
common occurrence for two men to swear a 
circle was a square, or a cross a star and vice- 
versa, and come to blows over it. After the 
cattle had been aged and tallied, Brown would 
take them down the river to another corral that 
had a branding chute, and affix our road mark 
— a 7 on the left hip. 

Brown stated, on his hope to meet the angels 
in heaven, that every cow-brute was branded 
possibly better than any other set of brutes 



Receiving the Cattle 93 

had ever been before, etc. He lied, as we 
found out later that most of them had but a 
" hair brand," and we had to do the thing over 
again. 

This was one occasion when we had trouble 
about paying for the stock. We found that 
the owners would accept nothing in payment 
but gold or silver, and they threatened to drive 
them on and deliver to another buyer if we did 
not accede to their demands. One man with 
only two head to sell was especially insistent 
on getting gold. We figured out that it would 
take between ten and eleven thousand dollars 
to pay for them, and the question was, how to 
get the coin there in the quickest possible time. 
It was finally decided that I should ride to The 
Dalles, about fifty miles distant, and wire to 
Portland for the gold, which could be forwarded 
by steamer to me there, and I could then bring 
it across on the stage to Scott's Bridge and 
thence on horseback to Gorman's. 

I lit out that night and got to town early 
in the morning. I could not take a short 
cut across the country as the rivers (the John 
Day's and Deschutes) were swimming high and 
rapid, and I did not know the crossings, so 
that it must have been a good sixty miles I 
made that night. I had a good horse, and I 



94 Bucking the Sagebrush 

don't remember that it seemed much of a ride. 
It only goes to show how youth, and a country 
in which there are a good many acres to the 
mile, accustom one to long distance riding. I 
remember it was Thursday morning that I ar- 
rived at The Dalles, and the cash came up on 
the steamer, arriving Sunday at noon, from 
Portland. 

The bank at The Dalles was run by the 
same people that kept the largest general mer- 
chandise store. I think the name was McCam- 
mon ; at all events it was Scotch, and they were 
very accommodating. The idea of carrying 
this amount of money did not worry me much, 
but I thought it best to inquire as to the char- 
acter of the stage-driver, who was to go out 
that same evening, so I would know what to 
expect from him. The bankers told me that 
he was absolutely reliable, and after I had con- 
sulted with him, he agreed to take out a buck- 
board instead of the regular stage-coach. 

It so happened that only one other passen- 
ger was booked for that trip, and it was said 
to be doubtful if he would go. It was also ar- 
ranged that the gold should be put in bags, 
each to contain $2000, and these bags were to 
be put in others filled with sawdust, and done 
up as though they contained groceries. 



Receiving the Cattle 95 

At stage time, about 7 o'clock in the evening 
— it was Sunday — nearly the whole population 
of the town was standing round as on-lookers, 
and it seemed to me that I saw several indi- 
viduals who took more than an ordinary inter- 
est in the loading of the "groceries" into the 
box under the seat. I carried out one ba^ in 
as nonchalant a manner as possible, but even 
with the greatest care, I could not prevent the 
clink of the coin as I put it in its place. It is 
surprising how that sound penetrates and . is 
different from any other. 

The third passenger turned up at the last 
minute, and he certainly did look tough. The 
driver and I occupied the only seat so he was 
told to ride on the mail-sacks behind. This 
sounds uncomfortable, but by piling them prop- 
erly a very easy seat can be made. I have rid- 
den many a mile by preference in this way. We 
had a good-looking team of horses, and with a 
flourish of the whip and a facetious remark the 
driver started us on our journey back to Scott's 
Bridge, just as it was getting dark. The road 
for the first three or four miles — or until we 
reached the bridge across the Deschutes River 
— was very sandy, and it was here that I ex- 
pected trouble if any came. I knew no one 
could swim the river, as it was a raging torrent, 



96 Bucking the Sagebrush 

and if any persons bent on robbery crossed the 
bridge ahead or behind us, we should at least 
have some idea as to who they were. 

The advice given me by the driver, while 
we stood together in the bank just before 
starting, will show we were not unprepared for 
trouble. It was short and to the point. 

"Got a gun?" 

" Yes." I showed him a 45-calibre Smith & 
Wesson. 

14 Skookum (Chinook for ' first-rate ' ). Hold 
it on your knees till we get across the bridge ; 
if any one tries to stop us, shoot that Coyote 
on the mail sacks first and then keep shooting, 
— never mind me, I '11 keep the horses going." 

It is needless to say, I kept one eye on the 
44 Coyote " but nothing happened. We ran 
the horses when the road permitted, and made 
good time to the bridge. I have never yet 
decided how narrow an escape we had, but 
the third passenger got off at the toll-house 
on the bridge, saying he guessed he 'd wait 
until the regular stage came, as it was too 
hard riding on the sacks. 

I imagine the driver knew more than he let 
on, and it no doubt was largely owing to the 
time we made, that our 44 Coyote's " friends 
failed to make connection with him at the 



Receiving the Cattle 97 

roadside. We got through all right at about 
daylight in the morning. I gave the driver 
three twenty-dollar pieces which seemed to 
please him, although he said nothing. How- 
ever, he showed a certain amount of apprecia- 
tion by inviting me to join him in a drink 
and paying for it out of one of the "pieces of 
twenty." 

I remember with satisfaction that I evened 
up for my trouble on this journey by "eu- 
chring " that particular one of the cattle owners 
who had only two head of cattle and who had 
been doino- most of the talking and kicking. 
In fact he had worked the others up to de- 
mand the cash payments. I found that this 
gentleman's holdings consisted of one two-vear- 
old and an ox about six years. The "two" 
was a "short," (that is, it was about twenty 
months old) so we told him we would only 
take it at a discount and would not accept 
his ox at all. He cursed and threatened in 
vain, and, finally, when we had settled with all 
the others and were about to start the herd, 
leaving- him with his two animals a hundred 
miles from home and no money, we relented 
and took them both for ten dollars. 

Gorman's farewell to us was memorable. 
We had a two-gallon keg of whiskey that we 



98 Bucking the Sagebrush 

carried as a cure for "snake-bite." In order 
to be sure that none of the men would get 
at it, we placed it in Gorman's custody. He 
and Sweet, his partner, stood off temptation 
just two days. About six o'clock on the morn- 
ing of the third day they both came out to the 
corral where we were already at work. Their 
bloodshot eyes and unsteady gait gave us an 
inkling of what had happened to our keg of 
whiskey. 

Gorman was in his night-shirt as usual, and 
as the morning was warm and his blood had 
been fired somewhat by the liquor, he was 
perspiring freely. He fanned himself vigor- 
ously by flapping the tail of the garment, and 
cautiously mounted to a seat on the top rail of 
the corral. 

" Gen'lmen," he said thickly, " 'fore you 
leave I 've got to 'shpress my opinion 'o zhem 
damned webfeet. Zhey are zhe curse of zhis 
country, damn 'em." 

He kept up his harangue for fully an hour 
abusing the inhabitants of the lowlands with 
great vehemence. He and Sweet then retired, 
but as the sailors say, they " bled the buoy " 
to death before they finally went to sleep. 
An Oregonian can be trusted with money, but 
not with whiskey. 



Receiving the Cattle 99 

When the last cattle owner had been paid 
and everything straightened out with Gorman, 
we started the herd for another rendezvous at 
a place called " Lone Rock," some miles to the 
east, where more cattle were to be delivered. 
The troubles and mishaps we had experienced 
up to this point were trifles as compared with 
what we were to go through during the follow- 
ing month. 







L.erfC. 



CHAPTER IX 

' HANDLING A TRAIL HERD 

WE soon discovered that our men, with the 
exception of the three previously re- 
ferred to, were utterly ignorant of the proper 
way to work cattle on the trail. To make 
matters worse the animals were all strange to 
each other, with no previous trail experience, 
and were evidently all homesick and anxious to 
return to their own particular haunts. This 
they were constantly striving to do at all times 
of night or day, sometimes singly or in bunches, 
sometimes all together in a solemn absent- 
minded walk, and then again in a determined 
gallop, but always with a dogged persistence 
against which strong language had not the 
slightest effect, and even clubs . made but a 
temporary impression. It can easily be seen 
that we did not have much time to give to 
lawn tennis and afternoon teas. 

We now began to have other worries added 

100 



Handling a Trail Herd 101 

to our bundle. When we started the cattle, 
having just come off the finest feed in the 
world, — bunch grass — many of them were in 
fine flesh. In fact a great many of them could 
have been killed for beef. But we soon found 
that an excess of fat, at the start, anyhow, was 
not the thing to be desired. 

It was now the end of June and the sun was 
getting very hot in the middle of the day. The 
country was rolling and the trail crossed a 
number of divides between the watercourses. 
Some of these hills, though not long, were 
steep, and we soon found that our overfat 
stock began to die from a sort of apoplexy, 
brought on by their exertions in climbing these 
steep slopes. For several days we lost from 
five to ten head from this cause, and that was 
another lesson, costly, but necessary. 

For a beginner on the trail to see his finest 
steers lie down and die in the first month, when 
he knows he has several more months ahead of 
him, is like seeing a ship wrecked when just 
starting on a voyage, and it surrounds him 
with a gloom that can be cut with a dull axe. 
Visions of flowers for his best girl and trips 
to Europe fade, and the best he can see ahead 
of him is a cabin in the mountains with a milk 
cow to give him luxuries. Later on, however, 



io2 Bucking the Sagebrush 

the boot was on the other leg — fat cattle did 
not bother us. They got so thin that we had 
to wrap them with rawhide to keep them from 
falling apart. 

To drive cattle on the trail is simple enough 
when you know how, but cows, like human be- 
ings, must be drilled before they can march. 
The proper way is as follows : At about sun- 
down a "bed ground" is selected. It should 
be as level as possible, half a mile to a mile 
from water, on high ground and free from sage- 
brush. This, of course, is the ideal spot which 
is seldom found, but one tries to come as near 
to it as possible. It is also well to have it at 
least half a mile from camp. 

If the grass and water have been plentiful, 
the herd is liable to be in a cheerful frame 
of mind and allows itself to be rounded into 
a bunch gradually. This is usually done by 
about four or five hands, the rest of the men 
being sent to camp for supper, among them 
those who go " on herd " the first part of the 
night. The latter get fresh horses, and about 
eight o'clock go out and send in the men who 
have bedded the herd. 

When it becomes dark the animals lie down, 
and if nothing happens to disturb them, they 
remain perfectly quiet until about twelve, when 



Handling a Trail Herd 103 

they get up, stretch and turn over, and then 
peace reigns until the first break of day. Some 
times a steer will create a commotion by horn- 
ing another to make it give up its comfortable 
warm bed, but that amounts to little. Under 
these rose-colored conditions, two men can 
easily hold 2500 head of cattle. 

The men ride around the herd in different 
directions, keeping about fifty yards from the 
edge of the bunch, and the real cowboy will 
sing to his herd as a mother sings to her baby, 
the music of the lullaby. There is no doubt 
that the sound of a human voice has a quieting 
effect on a dumb brute, and many a stampede 
has been avoided by this practice of singing. 
The length of the watches varies according to 
circumstances. If everything runs smooth, and 
the cattle hold easy, it is usual to have but two 
periods — from eight at night till four or five in 
the morning. But some times it is necessary 
to reduce the time to two hours per watch, and 
then every man takes a turn during the night. 
Some times all hands are up all night, so that 
there really is no hard and fast rule. Ordin- 
arily when the period of the watch is up one of 
the men on herd comes into camp and wakens 
the relief, and woe to the man who cuts off 
any from his own time. There is always liable 



104 Bucking the Sagebrush 

to be more than one watch in camp, and they 
are kept pretty well synchronized, so that the 
plea of the watch being wrong won't work, and 
the shirker has his life made very unhappy. 

As soon as it is light enough to see, the 
cattle get on their legs and begin to look for 
breakfast. When the herd begins to graze the 
leaders naturally go in the direction in which 
they happen to be facing. It is then that the 
cowboy who knows his business comes in. 
With the help of one other he will ''point" 
them in the direction in which the herd is be- 
ing driven without fuss or noise. 

The method is simple. One man keeps, we 
will say, to the north of the herd and the other 
works the head animals from the south until 
they reach him, when, like water meeting an 
obstacle, they will seek the spot of least resist- 
ance, which in this case would be to the east, 
as otherwise they would face back into the 
main bunch. Thus, a herd takes the shape of 
a wedge, or of a flock of wild geese on the 
wing, if on the open prairie ; if in a narrow de- 
file, they, of course, lengthen out. The riders 
gradually take up their places on either flank 
and the rear is brought up by four or five men 
" pounding em on the back," as the term goes. 

In all herds there are a certain number of 



Handling a Trail Herd 105 



animals that are always in the lead, unless 
disabled by lameness. These may number a 
couple of hundred head, and of this number 
there are half a dozen or so that are usually 
in the van. The " leaders " are soon known, 
and it is necessary to be able to distinguish 
them from the main herd, for the reason that 
if any of them are missing after a night stam- 
pede, you can be sure that your lead cattle 
have not been rounded up. 

The tail end of a herd is called the " drag " 
and never was a truer appellation given. 
Under the best of circumstances, to push 
along the cripples and worn-out " critters," of 
which there are always quite a number, is a 
task that I don't believe old Job could handle 
with any degree of complacence. If the wind 
is against you, the dust from four times two 
thousand feet is coming directly into your face 
— and mind you, most of the soil on the trail 
has a good proportion of alkali. The sun 
comes down hot, and sometimes, if water is 
scarce and the drive is a long one, it may 
mean seven or eight hours without a drink. 
It is almost as trying as being marooned, to 
see the main body of the herd gradually dis- 
appearing ahead with the grub-wagon and the 
horse herd, and find yourself with two or three 



106 Bucking the Sagebrush 

other unfortunates trying to hurry up, by all 
the means known to the profession, a couple 
of hundred laggards. 

Even the camp has its routine. The cook 
gets up generally about 2.30 or 3 a.m., accord- 
ing to his nature, and proceeds to get breakfast. 
Just as soon as he can see to count his horses 
the " cavarango" or " horse wrangler" rounds 
up his bunch and brings them into camp. 

I must here explain that in the evening, 
when all the horses have been turned loose, 
except those needed for night herding, the 
"wrangler" gathers them in a bunch and 
drives them off to wherever he thinks he will 
find good grass, and holds them there until 
morning. 

The science of night herding horses is a 
difficult one for white men to learn. To In- 
dians and Mexicans it is easy, as they have 
been brought up to it. The trouble generally 
lies in the fact that the herder is either too 
careful or not careful enough. A man who 
keeps his bunch too close because he is afraid 
some will get away will knock the flesh off 
his horses almost as much as hard riding. On 
the other hand, the careless or sleepy man will 
always be out several horses in the morning, 
and they are usually the best of the lot. An 



Handling a Trail Herd 107 

Indian or Mexican seems to have the faculty 
of sleeping with one eye open. They rarely 
lose an animal, and if the weather is of the 
average, they will stand all night, and yet, 
except for a nap of perhaps an hour at noon, 
they don't seem to need sleep ; at all events, 
they don't regularly get into their blankets — 
if they have any. 

Around the neck of one of the horses — pref- 
erably an old mare kept for the occasion and 
called the bell mare — a cow-bell is strapped. 
After a week or so the horses become at- 
tached to the sound and will always keep 
within earshot unless something alarms them 
or they are thirsty and smell water, in which 
case nothing but a rope will hold them. The 
bell is also a great help to the cavarango, as 
by the sound he can tell the direction and dis- 
tance the horses are from him, and he can also 
tell if they are grazing or moving away from 
him. 

We left the cook preparing breakfast, and 
the horse herd coming toward camp ; we will 
now see what the men are doing. In every 
cow camp you will find some one, who, either 
from a bad conscience, a lumpy bed, or vigor- 
ous appetite will get up when he hears the 
cook stirring. Sometimes he is a cheerful 



108 Bucking the Sagebrush 

soul and begins to bellow at the top of his 
lungs. Again, he is a particular bird, and im- 
mediately puts on his spurs and chaps, rolls 
up his blankets, and cords the bundle, all with 
a running accompaniment of jingles, snorts, 
and oaths. Then he tramps right through the 
prostrate forms and dumps his bedding into 
the wagon. 

It is a peculiar and disagreeable sensation, 
when lying with your ear close to the ground, 
to hear a man with a big spur tramping in 
your immediate neighborhood. I think the 
sound travels more clearly than it does higher 
up. At all events, with your senses only half 
aroused, you are dead sure that the next step 
the man takes is going to land his heel in 
your mouth and his spur in your eye. This 
has the necessary effect, and one by one the 
weary boys wake with a moan or an oath, 
stretch and get on their feet. 

At one time on this trail we had a man who 
invariably yodled the following ditty as his 
greeting to the newborn day : 

" I *m ragged I know, 
But look at the rigging on Billy Barlow." 

The last note was a prolonged falsetto howl. 
We got rid of him as soon as possible. 



Handling a Trail Herd 109 

Dressing consists of pulling on your boots 
and trousers and chaps. Washing is usually 
postponed until the sun comes up. Each man, 
as he happens to be slovenly or neat in his 
habits, rolls and ties up his bed and takes it to 
the wagon to await loading. 

By this time the horses are near at hand, a 
rope about fifty feet long is tied to the top of 
the front wagon wheel and another to the rear 
one, and the loose ends are held by two men 
standing off and pulling taut on them, thus 
making a V. This forms a corral. 

One of the peculiarities of a bronco is that 
he does n't like a loose rope, and he won't 
jump it unless he has to. It is also astonish- 
ing to the uninitiated, and I myself have often 
wondered at the impunity with which a man 
can walk in among a lot of broncos and push 
them about without getting kicked. I don't 
remember ever hearing of a man being hurt in 
that way. Yet I have frequently found myself 
at the business end of an unbroken pony in 
a crowded corral, even being shoved against 
him by another horse, and the only effect was 
to make him scramble to get farther away. 

On the trail the horses soon get to know 
what is wanted, and generally it is an easy 
matter to catch your horse, but sometimes 



no Bucking the Sagebrush 

there is a " breacher " in the band, and he 
makes all kinds of trouble. In the first place 
he will dodge a rope, and every time he sees a 
chance to make a break for the prairie he will 
do so, always followed by all the rowdies. 
When a pony shows he is an artist in that line 
he is generally dropped out of the bunch and 
left to graze peacefully, unless it is his turn to 
be ridden, and then things are different. One 
day a horse with this trait, in his efforts to dodge 
through the lines, laid a course directly across 
the spot where the cook had piled his hot 
breakfast. The obituary notice and set of 
resolutions passed by the members of that 
camp, and placed near his carcass, would bring 
tears to your eyes, but I doubt if they could 
be published. 

Each man catches and saddles the horse he 
wishes to ride that morning, and then eats his 
breakfast and skips for the herd. Horses are 
caught up for the men who may not yet have 
come in from night herd, and are tied to the 
wagon, as are also the work horses for the 
wagon. 

Finally, when all hands have been fed, the 
cook proceeds to wash up his dishes and pack 
his wagon. The horse herder, unless he has 
lost some horses during the night, generally 



Handling a Trail Herd in 

lends a hand, sometimes grudgingly, but usu- 
ally the cook and he work well together. A 
good cook always has his eye on the wood sup- 
ply. If he happens to be at a camp where it 
is plentiful, he will get the herder to " snake 
up " a log or two, and after he has loaded his 
outfit and blankets he will put the wood on top 
of the load. It is the same with his water 
barrel ; if he comes to a good spring he will 
empty out the stale water and replenish his 
supply. I have had cooks, confound them, 
who did not have sense enough to think, but 
I must say, that, as a general rule, the camp 
cook, although belonging to an independent, 
drunken, disagreeable tribe, usually has more 
than average intelligence. 

The horses are harnessed — most large outfits 
have four to the wagon — and when all is ready, 
the cook pulls out in the direction the herd has 
gone, and the horse herd falls in behind. In 
this way they proceed until they are halted for 
the midday rest and meal, by some one de- 
tailed to hunt up a camping spot. 

The distance made in a day depends on 
circumstances over which you have absolutely 
no control. The conditions that govern 
are weather, topography, water, grass and 
behavior of cattle. With everything coming 



ii2 Bucking the Sagebrush 



your way it is easy to make ten miles, or even 
twelve, and find your cattle, horses, and men 
full of food and good nature when bedding 
down time comes. Then again, you can work 
like a steam drill and starve like a Hindoo for 
food and drink for eighteen hours, and only 
make five or six miles. 

I think, however, that taking the average for 
six months on the trail, a distance of seven 
or eiodit miles a dav is fair, with three meals 
a day three fourths of the time. The other 
fourth is divided between afternoon teas and 
lying down where night finds you with nothing 
to feed on but the bawl of a hungry steer, and 
the hope that you '11 find the main herd in the 
morninof. 

The object, of course, is to move the herd, 
and at the same time keep all the flesh on them 
that you can. For this reason undue haste is 
bad, and empty bellies are worse. A man with 
experience will not try to keep his cattle on the 
main-travelled trail, except when he has to in 
order to get through mountain passes, or where 
the valleys are narrow. 

The best plan is to send two scouts ahead 
each day, or go yourself, and see what the 
prospects are for the next day's drive. We 
used to ride forward on the trail a distance of 



Handling a Trail Herd 113 

about fifteen miles, so as to know what direc- 
tion the road took, then separate, going to the 
right and left from the trail for a distance of 
five or six miles, and thence back to camp. In 
that way we knew exactly where the bad places 
were, and where water could be found, if at all, 
in sufficient quantities to water a big herd, and 
also where the best feed was for five miles on 
each side of the trail. At night we would com- 
pare notes and the man who could show the 
best country took charge of the herd next day. 

It was great training for a young man, and 
to-day I am often surprised that I recognize a 
district I have only been over once, and that 
perhaps a long period back, and it is seldom 
that I lose my way either in a city or country. 
Unconsciously I make note of land-marks. As 
I write this there are many portions of the 
Oregon trail that stand out as clearly as a pho- 
tograph, but I have not been there for twenty 
odd years. 

We always tried to get the wagon to the 
place where we were to camp for the night, 
somewhere about five in the afternoon. We 
would get our supper at about sundown, and 
immediately after that, if things were normal, 
the men would hunt about for a smooth place, 
and unroll their beds. 



ii4 Bucking the Sagebrush 

I always think of Balch as he looked about 
for a depression in the ground to accommodate 
his hip bone. He contended that if that part 
of his anatomy was taken care of he did not 
care about the rest. Sand is the most uncom- 
fortable bed because it packs so hard. When 
you find a thick growth of sagebrush, it takes 
a high order of intelligence so to arrange your 
couch that you can dove-tail in between the 
stumps — one in the small of your back, one 
back of your knees — always being careful not 
to get your head too near a clump, as there is 
the ever-present fear that a rattlesnake may be 
concealed in the bunch. 

The last thing a man does before he turns 
in is to see that his saddle, bridle, and rope are 
handy and ready to be thrown on a horse at a 
minute's notice, as, like a fireman, he never 
knows when all hands will be routed out by an 
alarm. ,^ 







CHAPTER X 

CROSSING THE BLUE MOUNTAINS 

WHEN we reached Lone Rock with our 
cattle, we stopped to await the arrival 
of a bunch that was being brought down from 
the neighborhood of Lewiston, Idaho, by Balch. 
In our ignorance and inexperience, we chose 
the worst place possible to hold the cattle — in 
a short lane with wheat fields on both sides, 
protected only by the flimsiest kind of fences. 
Our men were stationed at either end of the 
lane, some on foot and some on horseback, 
and the result was that the cattle got to " mill- 
ing," and bulged through the fences into the 
field. 

To add to the confusion, in the middle of 
the night we heard cattle coming in the dis- 
tance, and before we knew what was happen- 
ing, the Idaho bunch was on top of us. Away 
went the whole business, over fences and 

"5 



n6 Bucking the Sagebrush 

anything else that was in the way. Luckily a 
mile beyond was a canon about two miles long 
with steep sides, into which more by good luck 
than skill on our part, the larger part of the 
herd ran. We finally brought them to a halt 
at about daylight, with the assistance of two or 
three ranchmen, who made up their minds that, 
if they did not help, we would overrun the 
whole country. 

I had been ill for about ten days with some 
kind of a complaint, and by actual figuring had 
had but six hours in my blankets in seventy- 
three hours, although I slept on my horse 
whenever he stood still. As a result, I was at 
the end of my rope. I remember that morn- 
ing, after I had drunk some coffee, which was 
all I could keep on my stomach, and had seen 
that the cattle were grazing on the hillsides 
where there was plenty of bunch grass, I turned 
my horse loose and rolled up near a big rock, 
and never moved until after sundown. 

In trying to keep awake I had put tobacco 
juice in my eyes, and the consequence was 
that with the dust, I produced as badly in- 
flamed a pair of optics as could be seen in any 
hospital. I could hardly open them, and, to 
add to my woe, some of the men suggested 
that I had contracted an unpleasant disease of 



Crossing the Blue Mountains n; 

the eye quite prevalent among the Indians, 
and which eventually leads to blindness. 

Balch was badly worn out by his Idaho trip, 
so we decided to wait awhile to rest up, and, 
if possible, learn something more about driving 
before we started. Finally, on the fifth of 
June, having loaded our wagon with what we 
considered was necessary, we were ready to 
tackle the road for keeps. The night before 
we started we heard vague rumors that there 
was more trouble brewing among the Indians, 
but we had troubles of our own, so paid little 
heed. Brown, however, gave us some yarns 
about his prowess as an Indian fighter, and 
that made us feel safe. 

We were then just at the edge of the Uma- 
tilla Indian reservation at a place called Pilot 
Rock, and the trail leads straight for a pass in 
the Blue Mountains in an easterly direction. 
There are two roads through the mountains, 
one called the Meacham, where the N. P. R. R. 
now runs, and one to Daly's ranch, which is to 
the south. We selected the latter. We drove 
out to the foothills at the mouth of the canon 
and camped. The next day we made it through 
to Daly's without much trouble and camped 
on Beaver Creek. Before reaching Daly's we 
began to strike timber, but nothing very bad, 



n8 Bucking the Sagebrush 

and we congratulated ourselves that night on 
our successful start. 

I forgot to say that we hired three or four 
extra men to help us over the mountains, and 
I believe in the light of after events, that they 
put up a job to lose our cattle for us. They 
were among the venders of the cattle and 
knew that should any escape they would re- 
turn to their own ranges and they would then 
have a chance to sell them over again that 
year, as buyers were none too particular about 
brands. 

Be that as it may, they told us it was a 
drive of but eight or nine miles from Beaver 
Creek to North Powder River, which was on 
the east side of the range and beyond the tim- 
ber. Instead of that it was the longest twenty- 
five miles I ever rode or travelled. The leaders 
struck out at four in the morning, and that 
was the last I saw of them and the man with 
them, until eleven o'clock that night. 

I really don't think I can describe that piece 
of road, but Bunyan in his Pilgrim! s Progress 
gives nothing to compare with it. I waited to 
see that the wagon got started and thought, as 
I was still on the sick list, that I would take it 
easy and help bring in the stragglers. The 
cattle were fresh and for the first few hours 



Crossing the Blue Mountains 119 

strung out in a line all right. Then we struck 
the timber. 

When I speak of timber, I want you to 
understand that I am talking of a primeval 
forest of pines and scrub underbrush with 
the trunks of fallen and rotten trees lying as 
thick as sardines in a box, with mud-holes and 
rock thrown in promiscuously. Our troubles 
began almost from the start as far as the 
wagon was concerned. The trail plunged into 
this dense growth, and the road was only 
about wide enough for two wagons to pass ; 
the trees had been chopped off about two feet 
above the ground, and where it was not abso- 
lutely necessary to pull them aside, they were 
left where they fell. The snow was still in 
drifts, and where it had melted it made bog- 
holes. Our wagon was far too heavily laden, 
and, although the team was a good and true 
one, the job was more than horseflesh could 
stand. 

About ten o'clock I overtook the "drag." 
The cattle were hungry. There had been ab- 
solutely nothing for them to eat except the 
pine needles, and, to add to their discomfort, 
they began to get thirsty. Then the picnic 
began. We could not keep them on the trail. 
Every water-hole they came to or smelled 



120 Bucking the Sagebrush 

invited them, and they would make a break 
into the brush to find it. At noon I rode 
ahead from the rear and found the wagon 
stalled on what, from a distance, looked like a 
Giant's Causeway. The only thing imagination 
can liken that road to is a road macadamized 
by Titans just after the first layer of rocks 
had been laid. 

When the wagon was fitted out, we had, 
with great foresight, put a number of hooks 
underneath the wagon box upon which to 
hang our kettles, pots, etc., and that very 
morning I had thought how really bright the 
idea was. When I cast my eye underneath 
the wagon to see just how near the rocks 
came to the axle, I discovered that those pots 
and kettles looked more like a lot of hats 
after a cane-rush than anything else. Not 
one was worth trying to repair, bent, battered, 
and punctured as they were. 

We got out somehow and then made an 
attempt at dinner, but as the men were scat- 
tered for a distance of ten or fifteen miles and 
none knew where the wagon was, the repast was 
not a success. One hill we came to, although 
short, was glare rock. We had to deadlock 
both hind wheels and then cut down a pine 
tree and lop off the branch, making a sort 



Crossing the Blue Mountains 121 

of chevaux de frise. This we tied by the top 
with a rope to the hind axle of the wagon so 
that the branches would dig into the ground, 
We then took off our lead team and coasted 
down the hill. The horses were on a run be- 
fore they reached the bottom and just man- 
aged to keep out of the way of the wagon. 

It was impossible to ride a horse through the 
brush, so we all dismounted and turned them 
into the road and drove the cattle on foot. 
What a day that was ! At sundown I gave 
out and got to the wagon. The cook at that 
time was Foss, the Methodist preacher. I 
found him in a very agitated frame of mind 
owing to the fact that a satchel in which he 
carried some sermons, tracts, a Bible — and his 
" charts to Heaven " — had been jounced out of 
the wagon and lost. I told him to take my 
horse and go back and perhaps he would find 
them. At all events, he could help the worn- 
out men on the tail end. I had to tie myself 
on the seat, otherwise I should have been 
pitched out every other minute. That wagon 
held together, and I have always taken off my 
hat to Studebaker, the manufacturer, ever since. 

As it grew darker I could not see to drive 
the horses and I let them go as they pleased. 
All I could hear was the crushing of the brush 



122 Bucking the Sagebrush 

by the cattle and the faint yells of the men 
who were trying to push them back into the 
trail. We had a pretty bum crew, but they 
worked like heroes that day and mostly on an 
empty stomach. If the darkness of night had 
not been relieved by the bright light of the 
full moon I don't know what we would have 
done. 

I think I must have got "groggy" toward 
the end, as it is all indistinct. I certainly did 
not drive the horses, and how we ever reached 
camp is something that Providence only knows. 
The men that were sent back next day said 
that the wagon wheels at one place were within 
a foot of a cliff that went down several hundred 
feet. I don't remember seeing it. I finally 
caught the glimmer of a camp-fire and don't 
remember anything else until I found some 
one holding me up and trying to force hot 
coffee down the neck of my shirt. It was hot 
and it did the trick. 

That fire was a cheerful sight. The men 
had thrown themselves down anywhere, too 
worn out to get the blankets out of the wagon. 
Foss, however, had found his "charts," it 
seems, and had gotten together some kind of 
a meal for which all hands were grateful. As 
I lay on my back looking up at the moon I 



Crossing the Blue Mountains 123 

mentally figured that about one half the herd 
had escaped and were then on their way to 
join their relations, full of anecdotes as to the 
habits and custom of the green tenderfoot from 
the land of the rising sun. 

The saying that " nothing can stop the U. S. 
Mail but hell and highwater," may be true, but 
it also applies to a herd of hungry cattle. 
That night it took all hands in two watches to 
keep the remnant of our herd from walking off, 
and when daylight came and we could let them 
graze, it took a load off our shoulders. We 
dropped down the stream to a broad streak of 
prairie, and then counted them to see how 
many we were short. 

This was another new job, but we had one 
man who knew how to do it — and we finally 
succeeded after a try or two. A bunch of a 
hundred or less of the leaders are separated 
from the herd and driven off about two hundred 
yards and counted. Then two men, having 
provided themselves with pebbles or matches 
to keep tally of the hundreds, station them- 
selves midway between that bunch and the 
main herd. The rest are then allowed to string 
through between them in single file or small 
bunches, and are counted as they run past. 
The other men hold the herd back close 



124 Bucking the Sagebrush 

together, so that none will run out behind the 
tally keepers, or crowd through too rapidly to 
be counted. It seems easy, but requires a very 
cool head to keep accurate count and not get 
tangled up trying to go too fast. When a 
hundred head have passed, a pebble or match 
is dropped into the pocket and another hundred 
is begun. 

We found we were somewhat over three 
hundred head out. Immediately Balch took 
four men from our outfit together with the 
cattlemen who had volunteered to help us cross 
the Blue Mountains and started back on the 
trail to find the strays. About five o'clock 
they returned and reported that they could 
find no cattle as far as they had gone, and had 
returned to get some grub and blankets and 
fresh horses. They had decided it would be 
necessary to go plumb across the mountains 
again before they could overtake them. 

This was most disheartening for a starter, 
and I felt that my doll baby was certainly 
stuffed with sawdust. The plan was to start 
back that evening by the light of the moon. 
While the men rested and got their supper, 
Balch and I rode out to the herd to see how 
things were going. 

All of a sudden one of the men called our 



Crossing the Blue Mountains 125 

attention to a cloud of dust or smoke between 
us and the lowering sun to the west. At first 
we thought it was a dust whirlwind, which is a 
common sight on the prairie, but soon we dis- 
tinguished something moving. We knew there 
was no herd coming behind us, so we galloped 
out to see what it could be. It was a bunch 
of cattle, but owing to the dust we could not 
see who was driving them. We soon rode up, 
and, to our surprise and joy, we saw our road 
brand (a 7 on the left hip) standing out in all 
its glory. Then — and this surprised us still 
more — we saw a little wizened-up man on a 
scrawny cayuse without a saddle weaving up 
and down behind them, and yelling at the top 
of his lungs. 

" I jest picked up a few strays back thar in 
the mountains," he shouted. " I was comin' 
this yere way, and I thought I 'd bring 'em 
along. I 'lowed mebby you 'd have use fer 
'em." 

We assured him that we did have use for 
them, and we felt like hugging him till we 
cracked every bone in his little dried-up body. 
He turned out to be a cook and had been hired 
by Rand, whom we had left in Walla-Walla, 
and been sent down to join us. He had missed 
the herd at Daly's ranch and followed on. 



126 Bucking the Sagebrush 

Luckily most of the cattle that had straggled 
off the trail during the night drive had come 
back to it, as they could not travel in the brush. 
There was no grass for them, and they had 
started back like a procession for the nearest 
lunch counter. He met them and got them 
turned in our direction, and I presume they, 
having decided that luck was against them, 
faced about, and came along as meek as re- 
pentant schoolboy truants. 

Our new cook was a character. Bob was 
the only name I knew him by, and his horses 
name was also Bob. He was the best cook 
we ever had, and the hardest man to keep out 
of a fight. He did not weigh more than one 
hundred and twenty-five pounds, but was will- 
ing to tackle any man, no matter what his size. 
The only Brown was the first one to step on 
the tail of his coat, and a more disillusioned 
man than the foreman after the clouds rolled 
by it never was my pleasure to meet. It all 
happened the next morning. 

Bob took charge of the kitchen as soon as 
he got his blanket unstrapped from his horse 
the night he got in, as Foss was a novice and 
glad to surrender the job. I saw from the way 
he took hold that we had a chef. He had his 
breakfast ready right on time, and everything 



Crossing the Blue Mountains 127 

was hot and savory. Mr. Brown, in his capacity 
of foreman, undertook to take a short stroll 
about that time, just to let people know he 
could walk, I suppose. At all events, although 
in sight of camp and having been summoned 
several times, he did not come in until all 
hands were through and our new cook had 
begun to clean up. Bob had left a frying pan 
with some meat in it, however, near the fire, 
and also the coffee pot. 

Mr. Brown finally came in and allowed that 
things were not hot and must be heated over 
again. In about two seconds the air was full 
of fried beef, coffee, and swear words, and 
Brown was apparently getting his brains beaten 
out with the frying pan and coffee pot, swung 
alternately like Indian clubs by the little cook. 
Brown stampeded, jumped his horse, and with 
threats of six-shooters, etc., lit out for the herd. 
The subject was an embarrassing one, and it 
was dropped, but little Bob was in charge of 
his department from that time until he left us. 

We found we were less than a dozen head 
"shy," and as these were all accounted for 
later on, we got out of the Blue Mountains 
whole, with an experience that was worth many 
dollars to us. 

One impression has always remained strong 



128 Bucking the Sagebrush 

in my mind which I must speak of before the 
Blue Mountains have shut off the horizon. 
From the time we first went into camp — some- 
time early in May — until we struck Powder 
River, every morning I would instinctively 
turn toward the west to see if old Mt. Hood 
was in sight. It seems to me that hardly a 
day passed that I did not catch a glimpse of 
its snow-capped, cone-shaped summit, and it 
never seemed a bit farther off. 

The last night we spent west of the moun- 
tains on the foothills, above Pilot Rock, I saw 
it as plainly as though it was but a few miles 
distant, and could distinguish the red light of 
the sun on the snow, yet we were then about 
one hundred and fifty miles distant as the crow 
flies. 




CHAPTER XI 

MORE INDIAN SCARES 

NOTHING happened out of the ordinary 
from this on until we eot into the vicin- 
ity of Baker City. This place at that time, 
was the largest town in eastern Oregon and 
had about two thousand inhabitants. I was 
not particularly interested in statistics at that 
time and don't think I informed myself. How 
ever, it was smaller than Walla- Walla, but 
built on the same plan — one main street with 
some stores and warehouses of quite respect- 
able size. The Jews monopolized the trade. 
Schwabacher, as usual, kept the largest gen- 
eral store, a branch of the one in Walla-Walla. 
The only purchase I made there was a gallon 
of vinegar, for which I paid one dollar. After 
that I did not wonder at the size of the stores. 
In fact, I wondered why they were so small. 
It was the old story over again. It was not 
the vinegar that cost. It was the freight, as 

9 

129 



130 Bucking the Sagebrush 

the man said about the needles in the early 
California days. 

While in town two government couriers 
came in with despatches from the seat of the 
Indian trouble to the Post Commander at 
Fort Walla-Walla. From them we got the 
first authentic news about the outbreak, and, 
although it lost nothing in the telling, it 
showed a most alarming state of affairs. The 
Bannocks and Shoshones had donned their 
war-paint, and left their reservation at Fort 
Hall. After killing several ranchmen, they 
had started for the Umatilla reservation to 
settle an old feud with that tribe, and inci- 
dentally kill, burn, and steal anything that 
came handy. 

The Fort Hall reservation was about 290 
miles southeast of us, directly in our road, and 
in fact, one of our objective points. The 
couriers had ridden their horses to a standstill 
and stopped only long enough to buy fresh 
ones. Those they left were fine looking ani- 
mals, although in bad shape, but we bought 
the two for seventy dollars and got a bar- 
gain. One we named Victor. He turned 
out to be very fast for half a mile. The 
other I named Baker City, and he was the 
easiest saddle animal I ever backed. I bought 



More Indian Scares 131 

him for my private use and kept him until he 
died. 

On my way back from Baker City occurred 
a little incident which illustrates how the 
simple farmer waited for the knowing cow- 
puncher and "did" him. I had bought in 
Oregon a black horse, standing about 14-^ 
hands, which besides being a most intelligent 
animal, I firmly believed had unusual speed. 
I was very proud of Coalie, as I called him, 
and only rode him on occasions of ceremony, 
such as going into town. I also made spas- 
modic attempts at currying him down, although 
he usually took that particular time to roll in 
an alkali wallow. On this day I had him look- 
ing fairly well, and he had been rubbed down 
in the livery stable also, so that he really 
looked quite smart. 

On my way to camp I was overtaken by a 
man riding a raw-boned critter, with dull-look- 
ing hair and a sleepy eye, and we jogged 
along together. I found that he was the toll- 
keeper on the bridge across the river. He 
admired my horse and casually asked me if 
we had anything in the bunch that could run a 
quarter of a mile. I modestly told him we 
had a few world-beaters. He said he had 
a horse that was capable of running a little, 



13 2 Bucking the Sagebrush 

and would like to arrange for a race. I fig- 
ured that this was my chance to clean up 
a few dollars and make a reputation for 
Coalie. 

Having made a date with him for the next 
day, I spent part of that evening in rubbing 
my pony's legs down so as to limber him. In 
short, I got busy. The next day I ran my 
race for $20 and a saddle against $50 in cash. 
I took one man along to see that we had a fair 
start. Well, I don't care to say now how 
badly I was beaten. Poor old Coalie was a 
dear friend and he is dead. I know he never 
mentioned the subject, so I wont. 

I said nothing to the rest of the boys but I 
was " on," and when the herd passed over the 
bridge a few days later we had some more 
horse racing. I bet against my own outfit and 
got even. That old nag with a sleepy eye was 
a flyer for a quarter of a mile, and the bridge 
tender had him trained so that he never came 
in too far ahead. That would have discouraged 
the other men who had " race horses " and were 
ambitious to show them off. I believe he was 
a broken down track horse imported for the 
purpose of taking in the unwary, and he must 
have paid good dividends if his owner gathered 
in all the cow outfits as he did us. I should say 



More Indian Scares 133 

that two hundred dollars was a conservative 
estimate of the amount his owner accepted 
from our boys. 

But the Indian outbreak soon drew our at- 
tention away from our losses in horse racing. 
Along the streams were scattered farms and 
ranches but they were often many miles apart, 
some of them being in the chrysalis state that 
I have already described — a wagon box for a 
house. When you got on the high land or 
benches, no habitation was in sight, and seem- 
ingly you had the whole world to yourself. In 
crossing from one stream to another we would 
come to some very rough hills or divides, and 
then it was always, unload the wagon and pack 
the stuff up the hill on our backs. Here is 
where our two thousand rounds of ammuni- 
tion came in. 

After we had travelled about a hundred 
miles from Baker City, we began to see signs 
of the Indian scare in the shape of deserted 
ranches. We also heard reports that the range 
horses had been driven off. The trail here ran 
parallel with the old stage road from Baker 
City to Boise City and at one of the stations 
called the Express Ranch, we met an old ranch- 
man, a Kentuckian, whose band of very fine 
bred mares had been taken by the marauders 



134 Bucking the Sagebrush 

who had also shot and killed some of them 
out of pure wantonness. 

Things began to look squally, and, to add 
to our troubles, one morning our own band 
of saddle horses was missing, and we found 
ourselves practically afoot. Nothing could be 
done until they were found, so mounting those 
that had been used on night herd, six of us 
started out in different directions. I got back 
about noon, empty-handed, but the horses had 
been found six or eight miles above us on the 
river by Mellick the horse wrangler. 

Mellick also found more than he bargained 
for. He knew from the trail that the horses 
had gone up the river, and, leaving the rest of 
us to circle closer to camp, he made a straight 
line for the foothills. Seeing a ranch with an 
enclosed field he thought he would stop and 
inquire if anything had been seen of the band. 
No one was about, so he pushed open the 
door and found the owner on the floor dead, 
and scalped. The place belonged to the stage 
company, and was kept as a pasture for their 
worn-out or used-up stock, with a stock tender 
in charge. He had been killed the night be- 
fore. If Mellick had not been a man of nerve, 
he would have made tracks for camp at once, 
but instead of doing so he took a look in the 



More Indian Scares 135 

meadow. There he found our horses mixed 
in with the stage horses. The only explana- 
tion I can give is, that a small party of Indians 
travelling in a hurry to join the main tribe had 
run across our horses in the night, and not 
knowing they were ordinary cow ponies, at- 
tempted to take them along. In their flight 
they came to the ranch, found the stock-tender 
alone, killed him, and not wanting our plugs, 
left them and pulled out. We brought the 
poor chap's body down to the station, and the 
stage people took charge of it. 

After that the men insisted upon being 
armed. We gave them each a rifle and a 
pocketful of cartridges. I must say it was a 
comfort to have a gun, even if you had an idea 
that it was as dangerous to you as to an Indian. 
Mine was a revolutionary-looking arm with a 
barrel about five feet long. It saved my life 
or nearly so, but not when in peril at the hands 
of Indians. 

In order to carry our guns and not be ham- 
pered, we devised a sling to carry them across 
the front of the saddle. These were made 
by taking a piece of green — or fresh rawhide 
about eight inches wide and sixteen long, cut- 
ting a slit in either end, slipping one end over 
the horn of the saddle, and bringing it tight 



136 Bucking the Sagebrush 

around the stock of the rifle just over the lock. 
We slipped the other end also over the horn 
by means of the slit. When the rawhide be- 
came dry, it got stiff and assumed the shape of 
the gun. As you rode, therefore, your piece 
was in front of you, and, if needed, all you had 
to do was to draw it out through the sling. 

The barrel of my weapon reached well down 
below my knee as I sat my horse. One day, 
while riding old Baker City and on reaching 
the top of a hill, I noticed that Bob who was 
about two miles ahead with the grub wagon, 
was taking the wrong trail. I started on a 
dead run down the hill, which was not stony, 
to overtake it. Suddenly I had a sensation as 
of something coming up behind me, and the 
next thing I knew I was pointing up hill, but 
still on my horse. Tumbles were very com- 
mon occurrences, so I simply shook myself to 
find that I was not hurt, and loped on again. 

After setting Bob right, I rode beside the 
wagon, when he called my attention to the 
barrel of my gun. 

"You must be goin' to shoot around rocks 
at Siwash, ain't you ? " he asked. 

I looked and found that it was bent into al- 
most a semicircle. As Baker fell — I presume 
he put his foot into a badger hole — the barrel 



More Indian Scares 137 

struck the ground, muzzle on. The rawhide 
sling held, and it simply lifted the weight of 
the horse over me as we made our summer- 
sault. I found I was covered with dust all up 
one leg and side to my shoulder. Had that 
gun not been there, I would have been shut 
up like a jack-knife and no ambulance in sight. 

During the following six weeks, we saw — 
perhaps sometimes only thought we saw — quite 
a number of small bands of hostile Indians in 
the distance, and on several occasions found 
their moccasin trails in close proximity to our 
camp. They bothered us but once, and that 
was only as a feeler. I have always believed 
that we went unmolested because of the fact 
that we had nothing they wanted. They knew 
we were all armed and that some one was al- 
ways on the alert, and if they attacked us, the 
chances were that some of them would get 
hurt. As one dead or wounded Indian, in 
their arithmetic, is only evened up by the death 
of several white men, they did not think the 
game worth the candle. 

There is no doubt that they had us thoroughly 
sized up and had we given them a good chance 
they would have looted our wagon. This was 
proved by the fact of their having been so 
near our camps without being detected, but we 



138 Bucking the Sagebrush 

kept everything bunched together both day 
and night. Beside the men with the horses 
and cattle, we also had a camp guard. All 
this meant night work and a good deal of 
anxiety. I have heard of men who were not 
afraid of Indians, but so far have not had the 
pleasure of their acquaintance. 

The work and anxiety finally convinced sev- 
eral of the men that they had important busi- 
ness in Baker City, so one morning, when 
about ten miles from the Express Ranch, where 
the stage stopped, five of them quit. There 
was nothing to be gained by argument, and it 
was agreed that they should ride to the Star 
Ranch and I should go back to Baker City and 
try to get men to take their places. I left 
camp with them, and after seeing that their 
horses were turned over to the stock-tender at 
the ranch, started on my fifty-mile ride to town. 

I must confess it seemed a long and lonely 
ride, and I had all kinds of visions of Indians 
in the distance. I rode Coalie, and, although 
he had shown that he was not a race horse, I 
knew he had seventy-five miles in him if need 
be. I arrived in town about four in the 
afternoon, and slept that night in sheets for the 
first time in about two months. I also took 
occasion to get a hot bath, a shave, a hair-cut, 



More Indian Scares 139 

and shampoo, and the sensation of being dean 
once more was one not to be sneezed at. 

I found three men that evening, and they 
found a fourth. I started them off on the 
stage in the morning, with directions how to 
find their horses and get to camp. Two of 
these men stayed through to the last. Having 
decided to wait over a day to let my horse rest, 
I took things easy. In the afternoon I noticed 
a team of little mouse-colored ponies, hitched 
to a buckboard, on which was a roll of blankets. 
I knew them at once as belonging to us, and 
sure enough out came the driver from a saloon. 
He was a short red-haired man with high 
shoulders, and, an unusual thing in that coun- 
try, wore a narrow-brimmed felt hat. 

" It seems to me I 've seen this outfit be- 
fore," I said, as I went up to the team. 

" Maybe you have, and maybe you have n't," 
he said, eying me through his spectacles as 
suspiciously as I did him. 

" I think they belong to me," I persisted, 
with a show of pugnacity in my tone. 

" That just depends on whether you are a 
partner of Rand," said the man. " What 's 
your name ? " 

I told him. Then it was all right. He told 
me his name was Flatteau, and I got his 



Ho Bucking the Sagebrush 

autobiography in short order. He was a Swiss, 
a graduate of one of the Heidelberg Universi- 
ties, and was as good a fellow as I ever met. 
He had invested all his money in a lumbering 
scheme up in Washington Territory and lost 
it. Wishing to get back East he had applied 
to Rand in Walla- Walla for a job, as a sort 
of bookkeeper and general utility man, and 
was taken on. He did not ask for wages, but 
we gave him a present when we reached the 
end of our journey. I don't know what be- 
came of him, but had he remained in the lum- 
ber business he no doubt would have made his 
fortune, as did many others who engaged in it. 
He was about two years ahead of the times, 
but in spite of his ill-fortune he foresaw the 
tremendous profits in the business when the 
question of transportation was solved, and he 
had it all figured out. 

Flatteau and I immediately became friends, 
and I felt much easier in my mind to know I 
would have company on my trip back. He 
was chock full of news about the outbreak. 
There had been a big fight near Pilot Rock — 
our starting point — between the soldiers and 
the Umatilla Indians on one side, and the 
Bannock's and Shoshones on the other. The 
latter had been badly beaten, and were now 



More Indian Scares H 1 

supposed to be broken up in small parties find- 
ing their way back to the neighborhood of 
Stein's Mountain in Idaho, where they expected 
to make another stand. 

For the benefit of those who are not famil- 
iar with the habits and customs of the gentle 
savage, I would say that when a war-party 
splits up into little bands and travels through 
a country, it is as well to keep the children in 
after dark, and if you have any rich relatives 
living in the city, take that time to pay them a 
visit. The change is liable to be good for your 
health. These bands did a great deal of dam- 
age and killed quite a number of settlers before 
they were finally rounded up and returned to 
their reservations. 

Early the next morning Flatteau and I 
struck the road and overtook the herd on 
Willow Creek, about twenty miles beyond 
where I had left them. I remember we drove 
through Burnt River Canon, where the Ore- 
gon Short Line now runs. I believe it was 
the scene the following year of quite a battle 
between surveying parties sent out by the U. 
P. and the O. R. & N. railroads. It is a 
natural pass, and the only one in that section 
through a long range of hills, and was there- 
fore very desirable. 



CHAPTER XII 

DEATH 

FINALLY we came down on Willow Creek, 
a fair-sized stream running in a south- 
easterly direction through a wide bottom and 
emptying into the Malheur River (pronounced 
Malhu). Here we had our first tragedy, with 
a befitting stage setting. 

For a week or ten days we had come along 
without seeing any signs of habitation, but we 
found Willow Creek bordered by hay mead- 
ows. It was only sixty or seventy miles from 
Boise City, Idaho, and the country was fairly 
well settled up. We encountered signs, how- 
ever, that the ranchers had all deserted their 
homes and fled to the city for protection. 
The panic was complete, judging from what 
we saw. In one house we found the food still 
on the kitchen stove ; sucking calves had been 
left tied up in the corral and horses in the 
barns. One woman had dropped her sewing 

142 



Death 143 

in the middle of the floor, and some had even 
left the washing hanging on the line. 

The first ranch we struck was one of some 
pretension, — with a big hay meadow and the 
grass still uncut, although it was the height of 
the haying season. Here we found everything 
as the fugitives left it — bed clothes, provisions, 
everything. And it was lucky we did, as we 
had use for everything all at once. 

In the outfit was a young man named Har- 
ris, the son of a well-to-do farmer back in Iowa, 
who had gone out to the Coast in search of 
adventure. I had noticed him particularly, 
as he was always willing and good-natured, 
no matter what the stress of weather or 
amount of work ; moreover, his appearance 
was in his favor, and one of his shining virtues 
was that he always was gentle with his horses. 

About three days before we arrived at the 
ranch at Willow Creek, he had come to me 
and complained of a pain in his right side. 
He said he thought he had strained himself 
dodging the limb of a tree while chasing a 
steer that broke from the bunch while passing 
through a small patch of timber. 

We had made no provision in the medicine 
line outside of horse liniment and some blue 
stone in crystals, which was used for cauterizing 



144 Bucking the Sagebrush 

sore-backed horses. For this reason I had 
nothing to give him but advice, which was to 
bathe the seat of pain in cold water whenever 
he got a chance. 

I discovered that evening that Foss had 
some pills, but what was in them he did not 
know, — nor did I, — but he said that he had 
had a similar pain, and that they had benefited 
him. I also prescribed a rub with the horse 
liniment. It happened to be Harris's turn to 
go on first relief with the herd that night, and 
as he complained no more, he was told to 
catch up his horse and go out. About an 
hour or so afterwards he rode into camp and 
woke me up, saying he was in great pain, and 
asked if some one would take his watch. I told 
him to turn in and I went out. 

The next morning he was worse, and, as I 
knew he was not a shirker, I told him he had 
better keep quiet and ride in the buckboard 
with Flatteau. It was a hard day's drive, and 
I never thought more about him until one of 
the boys came to me about noon and told me 
Harris — or Billy, as we called him — was in a 
bad way, and he was for a fact. Poor chap, 
he did his best to brace up, and how he stood 
the next twenty-four hours I don't know. 

At all events, when we got to the ranch he 



Death 145 

told me he could go no farther, as the jolting 
of the buckboard was more than he could 
stand. We, therefore, decided to take pos- 
session, and, upon finding that there was a 
comfortable bed all ready, we made him lie 
down. Some one suggested that hot cloths 
might help, so we heated water and applied 
them. Although performing our offices with 
the best of intentions, I suppose we tortured 
him beyond endurance. He would groan if 
the coverings were touched, and howled when 
we applied the hot towels, although the treat- 
ment did seem to give him some relief. We 
had no idea of the nature of Harris's ailment, 
and expected every hour to see some improve- 
ment. Finally he began to get delirious. 

While we were having a consultation as to 
what could be done, we saw a cloud of dust to 
the east which meant that something was com- 
ing from that direction, and of course, we im- 
mediately decided it was Indians. Our anxiety 
was soon relieved by the sight of a United 
States Army wagon with four mules, followed 
by a column of cavalry and an ambulance in 
the rear. It was a frightfully hot day, and the 
dust was six inches deep on the trail. We 
went to meet them and found them to be 
two troops of the 1st United States Cavalry. 



146 Bucking the Sagebrush 



£> "~~ -*-&' 



They were making a forced march to reinforce 
General Burnard's command at Stein's Moun- 
tain, where the main body of the hostile In- 
dians was supposed to be gathering. 

The men and horses were very soft, as they 
had been in garrison for a long time, and the 
men were showing the effect of the heat. One 
gray-haired officer and about ten men were in 
a state of collapse, although I had reason to 
believe that some of the soldiers were sham- 
ming a bit. 

I saw a trooper who was apparently very 
much overcome lying on the grass, grunting 
like a pig. The hospital attendant came along 
with a keg and a tin cup, and holding up the 
sufferer's head he gave him a drink of whiskey 
or brandy. At all events, the sick man's 
swallowing machinery was all right, for he 
never gurgled until the cup was empty. I 
was looking at him at the time, and as the at- 
tendant turned away he gave me a wink that 
explained the situation to his and my satisfac- 
tion. 

They had a doctor with them, and as soon 
as he had attended to his own men I asked 
him to see Harris. He only took a glance 
and asked a question or two, and then mo- 
tioned me to follow him out of the room. The 



Death H7 

verdict was that he was beyond all medical aid, 
and could not possibly last more than a day. 
The doctor also said that he was in terrible 
agony, and the only thing he could do was to 
give him something to ease the pain. 

"You really think there is no hope, doctor?" 
I asked. 

" None whatever," was the reply. " An 
operation might have saved him, although I 
doubt it, but it is too late now. It is a baffling 
case of inflammation of the bowels, and our 
profession has never been able to cope with it 
satisfactorily, especially when the pain is in the 
lower right side." 

As I look back on that pathetic scene in the 
light of subsequent medical discoveries, I do 
not wonder that the army surgeon held forth 
no encouragement. The malady by which 
Harris was stricken was undoubtedly appendi- 
citis. When I think of how I advised horse 
liniment and pills of an unknown character, 
the surprise is not that the illness had a fatal 
termination, but that the patient lasted so 
long. 

The doctor measured out some powder which 
I suppose was morphine, with directions to give 
it until the pain abated, but putting no restric- 
tions on the amount. The first dose he 



148 Bucking the Sagebrush 

administered himself, and in a short time Billy 
seemed to feel better. 

Soon other troubles were added to our list. 
The grass on the trail had been cropped so 
close that we could not hold the cattle near, 
and we had to drive them up into the hills. 
The horses fared better, as we turned them 
into the pasture where they got more grass 
than they had seen for months. While we 
were busy with poor Harris, we received or- 
ders from the officer in command to take our 
hard-ridden ponies out of the field, in order 
that the government horses might be turned 
in. I thought this was a little too much. Their 
horses were so fat that they were in a lather 
of sweat, and we found that on the march the 
troopers had been riding forty minutes and 
walking twenty in order to save their mounts. 
I went to the officer in command and told him 
who I was, and that my brother was an army 
officer. He finally relented, and told us we 
could put them back that night. 

As soon as that was settled, I went to Harris 
and found him perfectly rational and not suf- 
fering much. As delicately as I could I told 
him that the jig was up, that it was only a 
question of hours as to how long he would 
live. I asked him to tell me where his family 



Death 149 

lived, and told him that I would see that any 
message he left was delivered. 

A pluckier boy never lived. Not a whimper 
escaped him against the cruel fate that was so 
soon to cut short his life. 

" I can't tell you how sorry I am to have 
caused all this trouble and delay," he began. 
" You would have been able to get out of here 
if it had n't been for me." 

" Don't mind that," I said with the diffidence 
any man would feel under the circumstances. 
" It did n't hurt us to stop. The horses needed 
a rest." 

" I hope my groans and yelps have n't kept 
the boys awake," he went on. " But to save 
my life I could n't keep them from coming 
out." 

He told me his father's name and address 
and I promised him faithfully that we would 
send his body home. It was the first conver- 
sation of this kind that I had ever held and it 
made a deep impression. There was nothing 
tragic about it. He took it all as though we 
were parting for a trip and he was merely get- 
ting his instructions. The effect of the drug 
began to wear off an hour or so afterward, and 
we gave him some more. 

About four in the afternoon a courier rode 



150 Bucking the Sagebrush 

up to the ranch. Immediately the soldiers 
got busy, and in another hour we had the 
pleasure of seeing them disappear over the 
hills, going south, and we had the place to 
ourselves. 

We gave Harris the rest of the powder 
during the night. He died about sunrise, but 
he had been out of pain and unconscious sev- 
eral hours before his life flickered out. The 
weather as I have said was very hot, and the 
body began to turn black almost immediately. 
We dug a grave for him in the corner of the 
beautiful mountain meadow. Breakfast was a 
solemn meal that morning and it was eaten in 
silence. After it was over we wrapped the 
body of our old companion in his blanket — the 
shroud and the coffin alike of the cowboy. 

The burial was a simple ceremony. In fact 
there was no ceremony about it. Foss had 
left us at Baker City, and none among the rest 
of us knew any suitable prayers. We stood 
in silence about the open grave and thought 
pretty hard for a few minutes before we low- 
ered the body into the ground. There were 
wet eyes and twitching of lips as the red clods 
began to fall on the blanketed form. But it 
was too grewsome to bid our friend an abso- 
lutely mute farewell. One of the cowboys 



Death 151 

spoke up, and in a tone of consummate rev- 
erence said : 

" Well, Billy was a damn good fellow, an' I 
hate to see him go." 

"Maybe it's for the best, after all," said 
Mellick, the horse wrangler. " Anyhow, he 
won't have to do any more night herding." 

Roughly and crudely expressed as this last 
sentiment was, nothing could have conveyed 
more forcibly to our minds the world-old view 
that death means rest and peace. Mellick's 
remark seemed to relieve the tension, but I 
noticed, for a part of the day at least, there was 
less swearing than usual. 

We got a lot of rocks together and piled 
them on top of the grave to serve not only as 
a monument, but also to keep the coyotes from 
digging up the body. We put a board up with 
his name and date of his death burnt on it with 
a branding iron, and went back to the herd. 

The scene comes back to me now, and I 
wonder that at the time it did not affect me 
more. But we were living a hard life and our 
sensibilities were dulled by it. Besides, we 
had the anxiety of the business and all this 
delay had been irritating. If I had any sensa- 
tion it was that of relief that the whole thing 
was ended. 



iS 2 Bucking the Sagebrush 

Later, when we got to Boise, we had a law- 
yer draw up a set of resolutions which we all 
signed. These, with a letter describing the 
manner of his death, without the harrowing 
details, were sent to Harris's family. We also 
made arrangements with an undertaker to 
request the people that owned the ranch to 
leave the body undisturbed until called for. 
The old father came to our ranch in Wyoming 
during the winter, as we sent him out to get 
the remains and take them home. We re- 
ceived a letter from his mother in which she 
told us that the people on the ranch had faith- 
fully guarded the grave and had planted some 
vines and fenced it off from the rest of the 
field. 







:: -'^kWJ 













CHAPTER XIII 

SWIMMING SNAKE RIVER 

IMMEDIATELY after the funeral we broke 
A camp and continued down Willow Creek, 
the general direction being southeasterly. 
Several days afterwards we came to what was 
called " The Stone House," so-called because 
it was built of stone and the only house of 
the kind in that country, outside of the towns. 
It was a square, unsightly looking edifice and 
we found it had been turned into a blockhouse 
to make a rendezvous for the ranchmen in that 
vicinity who had sent their families into town 
for safe keeping. 

While there we were regaled with all sorts 
of Indian yarns, but by this time we were get- 
ting hardened and took them for what they 
were worth. In many cases I think they 
originated in the imagination of the narrators. 
One often reads of the heroic conduct of fron- 
tiersmen in time of danger, but I don't recollect 

153 



154 Bucking the Sagebrush 

that this particular batch impressed me with 
their prowess. They did a large amount 
of talking as to what they would do in case 
the luckless Siwash came that way, but whether 
they ever carried out their threats, I don't know, 
as our business was urgent and we could not 
wait for the denouement. The Malheur River 
flows into the Snake or, as Parkman calls it, the 
Oregon River — " Where rolls the Oregon," etc. 
During ten months of the year the Malheur 
is not much of a stream, but at this time, about 
July i st, it was running bank full, owing to 
the melting snow far up in the mountains. 

Where we struck it, there was a high bluff 
with a narrow trail leading down to the bank, 
and I remember that while trying to hold the 
bunch up to where the trail " took off" they 
began to " mill " — go round and round in a 
solid mass. I suddenly became aware that I 
was between a press of surging steers and the 
edge of the bluff, which, at this point, fell per- 
pendicularly fifty or sixty feet to the river. 

The cattle were crowding nearer and nearer 
to the edge in their blind efforts to get away 
from something, they knew not what, and I 
had only time to force my horse into their 
midst and go with them. It was like being in 
a whirlpool. I could see nothing for the dust 



Swimming Snake River 155 

and expected every minute to have a horn 
thrust into my horse's side or my leg, but 
somehow I got out and gained the narrow 
path going down the cliff. 

The cattle were thirsty and immediately 
took to the water, and as soon as the current 
carried them off their feet they swam for the 
opposite bank. It was our first attempt at 
swimming any stream and it was more by acci- 
dent than design that we got started properly. 
But we got across all right and only lost a 
couple of head that were crowded over the 
edge where I had been. 

The next evening we came to the western 
bank of the great Snake itself, and after one 
look we all came to the conclusion that we 
were in for the job of our lives. There was a 
ferry run by the old cable system, which means 
that a fiat bottomed scow with a board on the 
upstream side is attached at either end to pul- 
leys which run on a cable, stretched across 
from bank to bank. To start, it is only neces- 
sary to drop the board, slacken away the tackle 
that runs through the pulleys at the shore end 
of the boat, and the current does the rest. 
The river was very high and seemed full of 
whirls and eddies and was the color of mud 
and altogether looked very uninviting. 



156 Bucking the Sagebrush 

The ferry was owned by a man named 
McDowell and was named after him, and, I 
believe, is so called to this day. That night 
we interviewed him as to the chances of get- 
ting across with our lives, as the more we 
looked the more convinced we were that to 
swim the cattle was out of the question, and it 
was equally impractical to ferry them. He re- 
assured us, however, and said that in the morn- 
ing he would have some men, who had had 
experience, to help us, and, if we got a "good 
scald " on, we would be across in no time. 

As the Scotchman said " I had me doubts," 
and all night I had visions of disaster. The 
river at this point was at least a quarter of a 
mile wide, but owing to the swift current it 
would be necessary for the herd to swim twice 
that far before they could reach the opposite 
bank. Snake River (sometimes called also 
the Shoshone) runs north and south at this 
part of its course. It heads in the Teton 
Mountains near the western boundary of Wy- 
oming, flows south and then makes a great 
bend to the west, skirting the lava beds of 
Idaho, and then north around the upper end 
of the Blue Mountains, and then west again, 
emptying finally into the Columbia River in 
Washington, making a big pot-hook. I sup- 



Swimming Snake River 157 

pose, roughly speaking, it is eight or nine hun- 
dred miles long. 

In swimming cattle, one of the first things 
to guard against is having the sun shine in 
their eyes, as they will not swim against the 
glare. In other words, they will not go where 
they cannot see. It is also of the first import- 
ance to keep them away from water till they 
have a " ten thousand dollar thirst " ; otherwise 
you cannot force them beyond the edge of the 
bank. A third and also a very important thing 
is to find a place where the banks shelve grad- 
ually and where there is a place on the opposite 
shore where the ground will allow them to 
clamber out. 

The spot selected by McDowell was about 
three hundred yards above the ferry, the land- 
ing place being about the same distance or 
more below. We made all arrangements about 
ferrying our wagon and buckboard, and agreed 
to pay him one hundred and fifty dollars for 
the job. It is needless to say ferries paid divi- 
dends in that country in those days. 

We held the herd out on grass, or rather 
sagebrush, as in that immediate neighborhood 
there was not grass enough to keep a Harlem 
goat in good temper, until about three o'clock 
in the afternoon. Then, in fear and trembling, 



158 Bucking the Sagebrush 

we let the leaders slowly down towards the 
river. As soon as they smelled the water they 
began to string out in a procession with a man 
on either side to " point " them. I rode ahead 
with Balch to see what McDowell had in store 
for us. 

We found he had two small skiffs with 
two men in each, one at the oars and the 
other armed with two battered tin pans, one 
in each hand. What the deuce the tin pans 
were for we did not know, but we were too 
proud to ask. The skiffs were hidden under 
the bank in some brush, some distance below 
where the trail led down, and the men were 
crouching in the stern so as to be out of sight 
of the cattle. 

The nearer the leaders of the herd came to 
the water, the more rapidly they moved until 
they broke into a clumsy trot down the incline 
and plunged into the water. They were so 
thirsty that the first to reach the river simply 
opened their mouths allowing the water ac- 
tually to run down their throats. As soon as 
there were a couple of hundred head well in 
the stream, we had instructions to get behind 
them and howl like wild Indians. This we did, 
and as a result those in front were shoved into 
deep water and had to swim. 



Swimming Snake River 159 

It was here that the gentlemen in the boats 
with the tin pans came into action. As soon 
as the animals found themselves swimming, 
they naturally tried to turn and get back to 
dry land, but they were met on the flank by 
the two boats, with a volley of oaths and clash 
of cymbals that was never beaten in the days 
of ancient Rome. To save the drums of their 
ears, and, no doubt, also to avoid listening to 
the lurid idioms that were hurled at them, they 
turned their noses toward the farther shore 
and struck out for dear life. 

We on the western bank meantime had 
opened ranks and allowed the rest of the herd 
to gallop up to find out what the uproar was 
all about. The men in the rear worked like 
demons to keep the " drag " up to the main 
bunch. 

Everything was working in great shape, 
when we saw, to our horror, the ferry-boat 
evidently stuck in midstream, while the long 
string of heads, looking like a big snake, was 
being swept directly down upon it. It seems 
that the ferry-man miscalculated the time we 
would take in getting started and was endeav- 
oring to take two of our men across, in order 
to have them on the opposite bank by the 
time the head of the parade got there, for 



160 Bucking the Sagebrush 

the purpose of holding them in some sort of 
bounds after they had come out of the water. 

Everybody on the boat seemed paralyzed 
with fright, as they realized that if that solid 
chain of steers ever struck the craft it was 
dollars to doughnuts that the cable would part 
and the scow upset. In this case it would be 
only a question of their ability to walk ashore 
on the backs of the swimming cattle. Some 
one came to his senses in time to let go of 
something, and the old scow started back to 
the western shore in time to avert the disaster. 

My own fear at the time, I will confess, was 
not for the boat or the men, but for our prop- 
erty, as I knew that a large number of our 
precious cow-brutes would be drowned should 
there be a collision. The horse herd was 
brought down just behind the tail end of the 
drag and most of them also swam, but several 
decided that the ferry was safest, so we drove 
them there and all crossed together. One or 
two of the men put up some loud talk about 
trying to cross on their horses, but it did not 
take much persuasion to change their plans. 
The whole operation only took about three 
quarters of an hour, but it was all I wanted in 
the way of a soul stirring incident. 

Our troubles, however, were not over for 



Swimming Snake River 161 

that day or night, as we speedily discovered. 
The cattle had had nothing to eat, and the 
cold plunge had stimulated their appetites. 
There was little or no feed in the country as far 
as I could see, and the consequence was that all 
hands rode hard all night trying to hold them 
together. 

We had landed in a country that must have 
resembled Egypt the morning after it had been 
visited by the plague of locusts. In fact, the 
plague was there in the shape of thousands of 
rabbits and black beetles. These beasts and 
insects had appeared about a month previous 
in perfect swarms and were eating the country 
as bare as a board. They spared nothing 
that was green, not even sagebrush. 

The rabbits were a species of Jack, brown 
in color, gaunt from hunger, and looked as 
though they had been pulled through a knot- 
hole. Like the locusts and grasshopper, they 
moved as an army from north to south. The 
width of the column was about forty miles, so 
I was told, and I believe it. The destruction 
became so alarming that the county offered 
a bounty of four cents a scalp, in order to 
have them exterminated by the settlers. 

I heard a lot about this massacre of the 
innocents afterwards, and although some 



1 62 Bucking the Sagebrush 

allowance must be made for figures in a country 
where there are so many acres to the mile, 
still I have reason to believe the tales were 
not very far from the truth. It was no trick 
at all for a man with a double-barrelled shot- 
gun to make four dollars a day, and one enter- 
prising farmer near Boise City built a runway 
with brush, which ended in a big hole. He 
then organized a rabbit drive which resulted 
in his killing ten thousand, thereby earning 
four hundred dollars at one clip. I know for 
a fact that the payment of the warrants, is- 
sued for that purpose, nearly put that county 
into bankruptcy. The pest finally disappeared, 
no one knew how or why. One theory was 
that in their southward journey they brought 
up in the lava beds and just naturally starved 
to death during the winter. 

In spite of unceasing efforts to hold the 
bunch together, daylight found us in a very 
demoralized condition. We got them strung 
out after a bit and soon struck and crossed 
the Boise River, which flows in from the east- 
ward. By keeping well off the trail we suc- 
ceeded in getting fairly good grass. 

We followed on up the river and arrived at 
Boise City on the 4th of July. There had 
been signs of dissatisfaction among the men 



Swimming Snake River 163 

for several days, and we found that Brown had 
been trying to persuade the hands to strike 
for higher wages, claiming as a reason for the 
raise, that they were in danger of their lives 
from the Indians, and that they could get 
higher wages by hiring out to the Government 
as mule skinners and pack-train men. The 
trouble culminated when we got within walk- 
ing distance of the town. Then the dis- 
gruntled ones made their demands, which we 
promptly refused. As we owned the horses 
and saddles, there was nothing left for them 
to do but shoulder their blankets and hit the 
trail for Boise City. I think six, including 
Brown, left. 

I was delegated to go in and hire more men. 
I found the place en fite, but did not have 
time to join in the celebration. The town 
made a favorable impression and I there saw a 
system of irrigation, which was new to me. A 
great many of the houses were surrounded by 
gardens with fruit trees, and in order to get 
the water from the main ditches that flowed 
down on either side of the streets, there were 
erected what looked like mill wheels. The 
buckets consisted of tin lard cans capable of 
holding about three or four gallons of water, 
and as the wheel turned with the power of the 



1 64 Bucking the Sagebrush 

current the cups were filled and in descending 
emptied their contents into a wooden trough 
leading into the enclosure. To see a double 
line of these wheels all revolving at the same 
speed was very odd. 

The place seemed prosperous and contained 
probably two thousand people. There were 
quite a number of very homelike looking houses 
and I felt at the time that it would be a very 
pleasant thing to stop right there and spend 
the rest of the summer. During all the past 
month I had been anything but well, and on 
weighing myself at a store I found I tipped 
the beam at 1 18 pounds, which was pretty slim 
for a man five feet nine in his boots. 




CHAPTER XIV 

A TASTE OF HARDSHIP 

THERE was no difficulty in getting men at 
Boise City, and the next day we moved 
on with our full complement. Some one told 
us that by keeping well off to the south we 
should find good feed and water, so we swung 
down, with the intention of striking Indian 
Creek well up above its mouth. Our informa- 
tion was that by making a dry camp and driving 
about twenty miles we should bring up in a 
section of country that had not been visited by 
the rabbits and beetles. We watered the herd 
in the evening at an irrigating ditch and drove 
out about five miles for camp. The next morn- 
ing we started on the long pull. 

About three o'clock that afternoon I started 
ahead to hunt the water, but after riding for 
several hours, I came to the creek bottom, only 
to find it as dry as a bone. First, I explored 
down the course of the bed, but after going for 

165 



1 66 Bucking the Sagebrush 

an hour gave that up and retraced my steps. 
By this time I was getting thirsty enough to 
drink vinegar, but still no water in sight. I 
kept on in sheer desperation, as I knew there 
was nothing behind me. My tongue began to 
feel like a piece of wood and for a while things 
looked red, and I had a consuming desire 
to take off my clothes as I seemed to be 
burning up. You must remember that it was 
boiling hot, and I had been without a drop 
of water since daylight with the dust from 
the cattle almost chokingly thick at times. 
My horse was getting weak also and began to 
stumble. 

It was nearly sunset when suddenly he 
seemed to take on new life, and shortly after- 
wards I saw a bunch of willows about a mile 
away ; they promised something, so I pointed 
in that direction. I shall never forget my sen- 
sation when I saw the wheels of the buckboard, 
and there, lying at his ease in the shade of the 
brush, the one and only Flatteau, perfectly com- 
posed and reading a book. My poor horse 
made a rush for a puddle and I half fell off and 
made for where I saw a bucket with a cup 
hanging to it. 

Flatteau noticed that something was wrong, 
but I could not have spoken if my life had de- 



A Taste of Hardship 167 

pended on it. The memory of the first taste 
of that liquid, which was almost ice cold, re- 
mains with me to-day. I did not discover until 
I had swallowed quite a lot of it that it was 
really lemonade. By some lucky chance Flat- 
teau had taken a wrong trail and had found this 
spring ; he also discovered that there was water 
in the creek in holes a little farther up and 
had therefore decided to camp and wait for the 
herd to turn up. He had brought with him 
from Walla-Walla some cans of portable lemon- 
ade for just such an occasion. Portable lemon- 
ade consists of a tin containing sugar and a 
small bottle of citric acid ; by emptying the 
whole business into half a pail of water a palat- 
able drink is produced ready for instant use. 
Why I did not die on the spot of gastritis or 
something equally violent, I don't know, for I 
think I must have poured two or three gallons 
of water down my throat before I could quench 
my thirst. Death from thirst must be a very 
painful method of leaving this earth, judging 
from my short experience. 

For about a week after this we had our 
hands full, as for some unknown reason the 
herd took to stampeding almost every night. 
They would not run far, but that did not 
obviate the necessity of turning out at all times 



1 68 Bucking the Sagebrush 

of night, and tearing off to help stop them or 
bring them back. 

A stampede at night is generally plumb full 
of incident. In the first place, it is always in 
the nature of a surprise party, Everything is 
quiet ; suddenly a bawl is heard, and then the 
earth trembles and you hear the clash of the 
horns as they strike each other in the mad 
rush. There is no way of knowing the direc- 
tion the brutes are going, unless they come 
your way, or you hear the shout of some other 
fellow above the bellowing of the cattle as he 
tears after what he thinks is the head of the 
band. 

What the nature of the country is, you have 
no time to consider. You go. If you stop, 
may the Lord help you ! If you look down or 
think of the holes, just that minute you make 
a mistake. 

I don't believe any one can give a descrip- 
tion of a night stampede and do it justice, and, 
to a city bred man, it would convey no picture, 
unless he happened to have had experience in 
the rush line of a football game, and then only 
a limited idea can be gained. 

The horse is the main feature of the enter- 
tainment ; he is the star, and with him rests 
the success or failure of the performance. If 



A Taste of Hardship 169 

his eyes are bad or his corns hurt, you are out 
of luck and you had better find some quiet 
spot and wait for daylight. Distances are de- 
ceptive, as are elevations and depressions : you 
think you are about to climb something, and 
instead you go sliding down a hill ; everything 
and everybody are making a noise except the 
sure-footed, devoted little brute underneath 
you, and small thanks he gets for standing be- 
tween you and kingdom come. 

This stampeding got so bad that we finally 
decided not to bed the herd at all at night. 
The men were getting so worn out from want 
of sleep that it was a question how long we 
should last. 

One night I rode in to wake up the relief, 
and the scene was so weird that I have a most 
vivid recollection of it. It was moonlight, 
although the sky was overcast, and the men 
had thrown down their blankets wherever it 
was most handy, but it so happened they were 
lying in a semblance of a circle. They had 
their guns on the ground near them, and, as it 
was warm, few of them had rolled themselves 
in their blankets in the usual fashion. 

Owing to the strain of body and mind they 
had endured, none were sleeping quietly. One 
was sitting up, although sound asleep. Another 



i7° Bucking the Sagebrush 

would groan and toss, and others swear and 
yell, dreaming, I suppose, that they were 
heading a run. It looked as though there had 
been a battle, and these were wounded men 
left on the field — the firearms added to the 
illusion. To illustrate how the mind is always 
on the alert under the strain of a cattle drive, 
I can state that I have often been waked from 
a sound sleep by a man hailing for help, al- 
though at a distance of a mile. 

By this time we had left all habitations 
behind and were on what is called " Little 
Camas Prairie." It was near here that the 
Indian outbreak first started. A half-breed 
boy that had been adopted by a white man 
named Frank Robinson suddenly ran amuck 
and killed his companion, a cowboy. He then 
skipped for the reservation, and when they 
tried to arrest him the trouble began. I sup- 
pose they made that an excuse, as without 
doubt they had been planning for the cam- 
paign for some time. 

As far as feed and water conditions were 
concerned, things began to improve, and when 
we struck the headwaters of Camas Creek and 
reached Big Camas we were in a paradise 
for cattle. The stream runs almost due east 
through a wide prairie at a distance of from 



A Taste of Hardship 171 

five to ten miles south of the foothills of the 
Salmon River Mountains. About every four 
or five miles a small mountain stream flows in 
from the north, and the grass was knee deep. 
Under these circumstances, we decided that 
this was the place to call a halt and give all 
hands a chance to rest and fill up. We had 
been pestered at times by the ranchmen and 
settlers, who accused us of trying to drive off 
some of their stock, but, owing to their fear 
of the Indians, they had gradually dropped 
astern, and we were monarchs of all we sur- 
veyed. 

If it had not been for the anxiety we felt 
lest some wandering band of savages should 
swoop down on us, I think the time we spent 
loitering through that stretch of country would 
have been absolute enjoyment. As soon as 
the cattle got thoroughly stuffed with grass 
they became as quiet as a lot of old milk cows. 
About dark we would ride around the outside 
of them to bring them to a convenient dis- 
tance from camp, and then one man would 
stand watch at a time. The horses needed no 
attention, and although at first we kept a man 
alive in camp, we soon did away with that. 

The brooks were full of trout, and we also 
found lots of squab sage hens. These we 



17 2 Bucking the Sagebrush 

would chase on foot and kill with sticks, so 
that our larder was well supplied. The change 
from salt bacon, dried apples, bread, and coffee 
was most welcome. We had no fish-lines, so 
had to resort to all kinds of methods to catch 
the fish. One very successful way was to have 
one man ride up the creek so as to muddy the 
water, and another follow him up wading, and, 
as the trout rose to the top, he would scoop 
them out on the bank with his hat. This may 
seem improbable, but I will vouch for the 
truth of it. 

We also discovered that there were large 
droves of wild hogs roaming about. These 
were evidently the progeny of the domestic 
breed that had escaped from some ranch- 
man or emigrant. They live on the root 
of the Camas plant, which somewhat resem- 
bles an oyster plant in looks but not to the 
taste. It is considered good food by the In- 
dians, but was a little too pungent for our 
palates. We killed several of the hogs, but, 
on cooking them, found the flesh so strongly 
impregnated with the flavor of the root that no 
one could eat it. 

It was during this loafing spell that I read 
Lucille, by Owen Meredith, between naps. 
When everything had been attended to, I 



A Taste of Hardship i 73 

would find a shady spot under some willow- 
brush near a stream, and then forget cattle, 
Indians, and hardships, and be transported for 
the time. I don't know where the volume 
came from, but I think Flatteau owned it. At 
all events it was the only book in the outfit 
and it was a godsend to me while it lasted. 

Although comparatively idle, we found lots 
to do, however, as this was our chance to 
doctor our crippled cattle and soreback 
horses. 

To me the most distressing part of trail 
work is to be obliged to pound cripples along, 
and to see saddles thrown on to horses with 
sore backs. Both, however, are unavoidable. 
Some men, especially if they are not good 
horsemen, will raise a lump on a horse in a 
day, and that, of course, means a boil and a 
sore. 

What are called kidney sores are the com- 
monest and hardest to heal. The surgery is 
very crude, but sometimes effective. The main 
thing is to keep the proud flesh from forming, 
and for that reason we used to cauterize the 
place with blue stone and then apply some 
ointment, or, failing that, wagon grease. 

The crippled cattle were, of course, much 
more numerous, but they were easier to cure. 



174 Bucking the Sagebrush 

The treatment was most painful, but it cer- 
tainly " put the kibosh " on sore feet. The 
chief cause of lameness is from bruising the 
feet between the dew-claws on sharp stones. 
This is very liable to happen during a stampede 
or while driving over stony ground, and, of 
course, the bigger and heavier the steer, the 
worse the bruise. First the hoof begins to 
swell, then the leg, until it becomes almost 
twice its natural size. If nothing is done, the 
shell of the hoof drops off, and that, of course, 
finishes the animal. In other words the hoof 
suppurates and sloughs off. 

Our remedy was first to throw and tie the 
patient, and then take a piece of new rope 
about an inch in diameter and draw it swiftly 
to and fro between the claws until all the de- 
cayed flesh and putrid matter had been torn 
out. We then poured a solution of blue vit- 
riol into the wound and on top of that hot tar, 
the latter being used to keep out the air and 
dirt. It was surprising to see how quickly the 
swelling would subside and the animal begin 
to put its foot on the ground. We must have 
treated a hundred head or more at this time, 
and I don't think we lost one. 

We had a big dun-colored muley, or horn- 
less steer, about six years old, that towered 



A Taste of Hardship 175 

above the whole band. We had named him 
Mount Hood, and the old fellow was always 
well up in the van. One day he went lame and 
grew rapidly worse, and for two weeks he hob- 
bled along on three legs. We thought surely 
we should have to leave him, but this treatment 
cured him, and he lived to get to Chicago a 
year and a half later, at a weight of 2900 
pounds, after being fed on corn in Nebraska. 
All things have an end, good or bad ; al- 
though reluctant to leave this happy hunting 
ground, we had to push on, as it was nearly 
the first of August and we were hardly half 
way on our journey, and the worst of the road 
lay ahead. We crossed Wood River, where the 
town of Bellevue, Idaho, now is, and I think 
we met the man who afterwards founded the 
town, right there at the crossing. He was an 
Irishman, named Kennedy, who, with his wife, 
was seeking a new home, and had got that far 
when his team of horses leff him one night for 
parts unknown, and there he was, like Micaw- 
ber, waiting for something to turn up. He 
had taken the wagon box off the hounds and 
had made himself as comfortable as circum- 
stances would permit. Before we got there he 
had done considerable tramping about trying 
to find his horses, and had decided that the 



176 Bucking the Sagebrush 

country, although a little way from the Bow- 
ery, still had its advantages, especially as a 
summer resort, and would make a pleasant 
home for himself and wife. We traded a 
horse for a bag of corn-meal and a saddle for 
some sugar. This transaction, I believe, was 
the beginning of his fortune. He afterwards, 
I heard, took up some land that he turned into 
corner lots in the town of Bellevue, and got 
into some mines that made him a very rich 
man. 




CHAPTER XV 

SKIRTING THE LAVA BEDS 

WE now came to the northern border of 
what is known as the lava beds. 
These formations, I think, deserve a descrip- 
tion, as I believe few people are aware of their 
extent and nature. They lie in the south- 
eastern part of Idaho and cover a territory 
about 140 miles long, east and west, 70 miles 
north and south, forming almost a parallelo- 
gram. The Snake River flows around them 
on the east, south, and southwest and the 
Salmon River Mountains bound them on the 
north. In the centre of what looks like a 
dead level plain, rise three buttes, which are 
visible from any point around the edge. 

The color of the lava on bright days is a 
gray black, but in cloudy weather it looks as 
black as a pall. There are no streams flowing 
through the waste, and the only water that 
is known to exist within its border, except 

177 



i7 8 Bucking the Sagebrush 

perhaps to the Indians, is a spring at the foot 
of one of the three buttes. The formation is 
like that of a glacier with deep crevasses and 
jagged points. Nothing grows in them except 
a stunted pine, although I believe grass is 
found in some of the shallow rifts. 

There may be trails through them, but if so, 
they are known to few and it would take a 
brave man, or an outlaw, to penetrate far from 
their outskirts. 

There is, however, a short cut wide enough 
for a stage road which goes diagonally through 
from the north at a point near Lost River, 
coming out opposite what is now the town of 
Blackfoot on the south. It is about fifty miles 
long and runs near the butte at which is 
located the spring. 

In those days, before the railroads came 
through, one of the new stage lines to Oregon 
ran through here and had a relay station at 
the spring. General Sheridan, I believe, tells 
of seeing the following inscription over the 
ranch door: "Forty miles from hay and grain. 
Twenty miles from water. Two inches from 
Hell. 'God bless our home.' " 

I don't know what the geological explanation 
is, but to the laymen it looks as though a big 
mountain had melted and run down like a 



Skirting the Lava Beds 179 

mould of ice-cream. They say that the three 
buttes are extinct volcanoes, and that may be 
so, as I have seen, further on, mounds with 
deep cut-like centres which may have been at 
one time craters. We had no difficulty about 
water, as there were innumerable creeks com- 
ing down from the hills. 

About half-way along in our journey around 
the lava beds we come to what is called Lost 
River. Its real name is Godin's River. It 
carries quite a volume of water and is very 
swift two or three miles above where it strikes 
the lava. Here it broadens out into a lake, 
which has no visible outlet. From this it gets 
its name. It, of course, flows through some 
subterranean channel and probably empties 
into the Snake on the other side of the 
desert. 

Balch and I made a trip half-way across by 
the stage road, in order to determine if it was 
possible to drive the herd that way and thereby 
save quite a long distance around. We heard 
that some one had taken their cattle through, 
but before we got back we were satisfied that 
if they got some through, they left a number 
behind. 

We left camp just at dusk (with a pack- 
horse to carry our blankets and grub), for the 



180 Bucking the Sagebrush 

reasons that it was much cooler to travel by 
night and we had a full moon to light our way. 
Besides, we thought that we would be less likely 
to attract the attention of any band of hostiles 
who might be lurking about. We had seen 
their signal fires at intervals for a week past 
and felt sure that there was something doing. 
We chose our best horses and took along a 
supply of ammunition, and felt we had more 
than an even chance to pull through all right. 

It was in August, and there had been no 
rain to amount to anything for some months, 
so that the road was frightfully dusty. At 
night, however, in these altitudes, there is 
always a heavy dew, which keeps the dust 
from rising in clouds as it does in the day 
time. No one who has not experienced alkali 
can form an idea of its penetrating quality. 
It has an acrid smell and seems to dry up the 
mucous membrane of the nose and throat. It 
feels as though you had a bad cold in the head, 
and your eyes burn and smart as though you 
had put salt in them. 

With a long ride like this ahead, it is gen- 
erally the rule to walk your horse about two 
thirds the time, and lope the other third. In 
this way you get over the ground and do not 
exhaust the animal. Almost immediately after 



Skirting the Lava Beds 181 

we got into the lava beds we found the signs 
of the disaster which had overtaken the other 
herd in the shape of dead cattle. We tried to 
keep count of carcasses, but soon gave it up. 
The stench from the carrion was terrible, and 
the whole scene was depressing and terror 
inspiring. 

In places the lava rose in a solid wall high 
above our heads on either side, so that all we 
could see was the white trail stretching ahead. 
To add to the uncomfortable feeling we — or 
at least I — imagined that things moved about 
us. At times we both would come to a sudden 
halt and cock our guns, which we carried loose 
across our knees, only, however, to see a couple 
of coyotes skulking away from a disturbed 
banquet. 

This happened frequently and then we would 
hear the brutes yelping. The coyote cry is a 
beastly sound, even when heard in the security 
of a good stout log cabin ; but it has a blood- 
curdling effect on a moonlight night on the 
desert, in an Indian country. For a hair raiser 
it beats any quartet I ever heard in an opera. 

About three in the morning we reached the 
stage ranch, which we found deserted. We 
had counted on finding some hay for our 
horses, but nothing had been left. We gave 



1 82 Bucking the Sagebrush 

our horses a feed of bread, of which we had 
quite a supply, watered them, and decided that 
we had seen all that was necessary. After un- 
saddling and resting for about two hours, we 
struck the back trail just about sunrise. I think 
this was the hardest ride I ever had. What 
with the sun, the dust, and the stench, the 
horses getting weary, and the fact that we had 
not really had a square meal, as we cooked 
nothing during our stop, the miles seemed un- 
ending. We kept up, however, and got back 
to camp about one o'clock. As the herd was 
not going to move again that day, we turned 
in and slept the rest of the afternoon. 

We here met with the misfortune of losing 
our cook, Bob. I don't know to this day what 
struck him, but that evening after supper he 
appeared, leading his little pony, with his blan- 
kets tied on its back — he had no saddle or bri- 
dle — and informed me he had decided to quit. 
As I had no hold on him and he had his own 
horse, there was nothing to be done but let 
him go. I argued with him but to no avail, 
and finally told him that if he got through to 
Wyoming that fall and wanted a job cooking 
through the winter, I would like to have him. 

On a fly leaf of my Lucille I wrote the name 
of our firm and our post-office address and gave 



Skirting the Lava Beds 183 

it to him. I also offered him a rifle and am- 
munition, but he said he did not care to be 
bothered, and if any damned Indian could 
catch him they were welcome. I gave him di- 
rections about the short cut through the lava, 
and without a word of good-by, he jumped on 
his horse and disappeared in a cloud of dust 
in the direction from which we had come that 
morning. 

That was the last I ever saw of him, although 
I heard from him, or rather of him, twice after- 
wards. The first time was about a month 
later, when we reached the Blackfoot ferry. 
He had come through that far all right, but 
had drowned his horse trying to swim the 
river. 

The next time was about a year afterwards. 
I got a letter from the Sheriff of Sweetwater 
County, Wyoming, asking me if I knew any- 
thing of a man named Robert Arkwright. I 
answered that I knew no man of that name 
and was then informed that the skeleton of a 
man had been found by a cowboy lying among 
some big rocks near the Three Crossings of the 
Sweetwater River, and that although the coy- 
otes had scattered his bones to some extent, 
they had not eaten all his clothes, and in the 
pocket of his coat they had found the leaf 



1 84 Bucking the Sagebrush 

from Lucille with our address. I could give 
them no information about the man, and the 
supposition was that either he had been mur- 
dered or else been struck by lightning ; the 
latter I always thought was the case, as the 
rocks in that part had a good deal of mineral, 
which attracted the lightning. Bob, no doubt, 
had gone in among them to get shelter from 
a sudden storm, and it happened to be the 
wrong time. However, he was buried like a 
white man, without expense to his family. 

With us the daily routine kept on about the 
same for a week or so, enlivened now and then 
by a stampede or the straying of some of the 
horses, when we had an experience most un- 
foreseen. As a note of explanation, I must 
state that almost every man in the outfit was 
suffering more or less from inflammation of 
the eyes, caused by the glare of the sun and 
the alkali dust. Balch, in particular, was hav- 
ing a very severe time with what seemed to 
be an abscess at the corner of his left eye. It 
was necessary to bathe one's eyes for quite a 
while in the morning to get them really open, 
as the lids would swell up somewhat as they 
do when burnt by snow. 

Although I was by no means as badly off as 
some, at the same time I had been bothered 



Skirting the Lava Beds 185 

for at least a month or six weeks with mine. 
One afternoon I had ridden ahead to look up 
the road and had climbed well up on the side 
of a hill so as to get as extended a view as 
possible. It was the middle of the afternoon, 
and as I looked off towards the south and 
over the lava desert, I noticed that it seemed 
blacker and more gloomy than usual, and 
there also seemed to be a hazy or smoky ap- 
pearance in the atmosphere. The aspect of 
the sombre waste fascinated me from its very 
look of absolute desolation. 

After satisfying myself as to the trail, I 
turned back, and, as I did so, I noticed a 
cloud of dust about where the herd should 
be, but supposed that they had perhaps had 
a little run, as often happens if the leaders are 
feeling pretty well. I jogged along, but for 
some reason I felt depressed. Suddenly there 
seemed to be a squall coming up, as the light 
had changed to that gloom which comes just 
before a thunderstorm. 

I looked around the horizon and up towards 
the zenith, but there were no heavy clouds, 
although the sky was covered with light clouds 
such as one sees on a summer's day, and the 
sun was hidden at intervals. But the strange, 
uncanny feeling remained, and finally I began 



1 86 Bucking the Sagebrush 

to whistle and put my horse to a lope, with an 
^indefinable longing to get near to the sight or 
sound of a human being. 

Upon reaching the top of a divide, I looked 
out once more over the desert, and then at 
the sky. That settled my doubts. I was 
scared plumb through, and started for camp 
on the run. The alkali dust had done its 
work. I was going blind. 

What my thoughts were for the next half- 
hour would make material for nightmares to 
last me the balance of my life. The first man 
I met was the horse herder, and with him his 
band of horses. He seemed to be trying to 
hold them up, but the devil was in them ; they 
would do nothing except strike off on the run 
in detachable bunches. He shouted some- 
thing to me, pointing to the sky, and seemed 
much excited. 

Then the truth dawned upon me. It was 
an eclipse of the sun, total, where we were. 
Owing to the clouds, we did not get a view of 
it at the height, but it got so dark that the 
cattle refused to move and actually went into 
camp of their own accord, many of them lying 
down. The horses being more intelligent 
knew that something was wrong and showed 
it by their restlessness. 



Skirting the Lava Beds 187 

When a child I read a book called Cast up 
by the Sea, and in it there is a description of 
a total eclipse, showing the effect it had on 
the savages. This experience of being taken 
unawares and finding myself in a great show 
during the transformation scene, without hav- 
ing gone through the ceremony of buying 
a ticket, gave me somewhat the same kind of 
a sensation. It impressed itself forcibly also 
on most of the men, and I think the following 
anecdote will not come in amiss as an illustra- 
tion of its effects. 

Among the hands was a man called Bilious, 
to distinguish him from several other Bills. 
He was about six feet tall, very thin, and 
hailed from Arkansas. He had never seen a 
railway train, and the fastest time he had ever 
made was on the hurricane deck of a cayuse. 
Moreover, he was inordinately fond of horse 
racing and imagined every new mount he got 
was a race horse. It is needless to say that 
most of his wages went in backing his opinion 
of their speed. In the silence of that night, 
while we were on herd, Bilious came to me 
brim full of a desire to learn all about as- 
tronomy. As he explained it that particular 
branch of learning had been omitted in the 
schools of Arkansas. Not being afraid of 



1 88 Bucking the Sagebrush 

contradiction, I answered most of his ques- 
tions with an airy confidence which I was far 
from feeling, but the information I gave 
seemed perfectly satisfactory to him. Finally 
he wanted to know about the revolutions of 
the earth. I told him that it had two, one 
around itself, and one around the sun, that 
each day it revolved around itself, and it took 
a year to go around the sun. 

"How fur is it around the sun?" asked 
Bilious. 

The annual route stumped me. However, 
I tried to compensate for this lack of informa- 
tion by telling him that the earth travelled 
twenty-five thousand miles every time it went 
around itself. 

The astronomy " quiz " was interrupted 
about this time by a disturbance among the 
cattle, and we separated. About an hour later 
Bilious came jingling up, and when still some 
distance off he sang out: 

"Do you mean we go twenty-five thousand 
miles in daylight ? " 

"No," I yelled back, "in twenty-four hours." 

By this time we were both on the gallop. 
Then came back through the darkness: 

"That 's more 'n a thousand miles an hour." 

"Yes," I shouted. 



Skirting the Lava Beds 189 

As he disappeared entirely I heard him yell 
back: 

"A thousand miles an hour ! By God, we 're 
dandies, ain't we ? Waough ! " 

It had just dawned on him that he was 
going fast. The yell at the end was similar to 
that used by some busters when a horse is 
bucking hard with them, and is expressive of 
pleasant exhilaration. 

Before leaving these lava beds, I must relate 
one more incident, merely to show what 
imagination can do. The smell of Indians 
was always more or less with us, and any 
strange thing on the horizon was extremely 
liable to engage our earnest attention. One 
afternoon three of us had ridden ahead farther 
than usual, and it was getting dusk when we 
turned towards camp. My horse was a little 
lame, so I was some distance behind the other 
two and taking things easy. I saw them stop 
and point at something and gaze at it very 
intently. As I rode up one of the two said: 

"Indians, by God." 

Sure enough, about half a mile or so off, we 
saw four or five objects which looked like men 
on horses, and one of them seemed to be 
waving a blanket. 

Our pause was the briefest. No one wanted 



190 Bucking the Sagebrush 

to be the first to skedaddle, so we started on a 
slow lope. But I noticed that the man on 
the best horse seemed to have a great deal 
of trouble holding him. Our pace gradually 
quickened and finally we dropped all sem- 
blance of decency, and each man spurred his 
brute to its utmost. As we neared the camp 
we began to cool off, and, strange to say, by 
silent consent we said nothing to the boys of 
what we had seen. 

The next day, by sunlight, we discovered 
that our Indians were a clump of stunted trees, 
and the blanket effect was merely the swaying 
of the branches. Talk of fearless cow-pun- 
chers and there you have them ! 







VI " iV.T-.tt ».t»- ' /s/„ f. , nM- 




mf'"f ■«■■*?„.■ 



CHAPTER XVI 

SWIMMING SNAKE RIVER 

WHAT was really beginning to worry us 
was the realization that we were running 
short of provisions and no corner grocery in 
sight. Sugar and salt had given out some time 
before, and our supply of flour was very low. 
Those who think that men driving cattle have 
beefsteak every day are very much off the key. 
In the first place, the cattle are not in condition 
to kill for beef ; secondly, they were worth too 
much money ; and thirdly, in that hot weather 
with no facilities for preserving it, meat would 
spoil in a day and have to be thrown away. 

If there had been any fat range cattle and 
we had found a yearling or young heifer that 
had accidentally been driven into the herd and 
refused to leave it, we, of course, should have 
found it necessary to kill it rather than drive it 
off with our herd and thereby be considered in 
the light of thieves. And rather than see the 

i 9 i 



19 2 Bucking the Sagebrush 

beef spoil, we, no doubt, should have taken 
some of it for food. But that did not happen 
to be the case and we were down to sow-belly, 
bread, and coffee straight. 

We had a couple of sacks of corn-meal, so we 
could vary our fare with mush, but mush with- 
out salt or sugar is not really satisfying, al- 
though by pouring bacon grease on it, we made 
shift to get it down. 

Sugar was the one thing we craved most, 
and happening to meet a government mule 
pack-train, we persuaded the man in charge to 
sell us ten pounds of brown sugar for which 
we paid him twenty dollars in gold. In spite 
of entreaties the boys raided that sugar so that 
in two days we were as badly off as ever. 

I have seen men that might properly be 
called filthy, but those packers took the prize. 
There were between thirty and forty mules, 
and each one had from two hundred and fifty 
to three hundred pounds of salt bacon on his 
back. It was sewn up in canvas, but the heat 
of the sun had melted the fat so that it had 
soaked through the covering. The dust, of 
course, stuck wherever it settled, so there was 
a layer of about an inch over the whole pack. 

In loading and unloading, the men had to lift 
the packs off, and you can therefore imagine 



Swimming Snake River 193 

the state they were in. Anything dipped in 
butter and rolled in meal about gives you an 
idea of their appearance. It was wonderful to 
watch those brutes when loading time came. 
Each one knew his own pack and would walk 
up and stand waiting for his turn, and as soon 
as the last hitch was thrown and made fast he 
would trot off to where his own bell mare was 
standing. There are many stones told of the 
intelligence of these animals and incredible as 
they seem, many of them are true. 

We put in about two weeks of solid discom- 
fort ; the heat and dust were terrible. It is not 
at all an uncommon thing for the thermometer 
to eo as hiofh as 10^ : to 1 icr during the month 
of August, along the bottom of upper Snake 
River, which we were now approaching. 

The nature of the country now be^an to 
change and broaden out. and we felt as if we 
had more room to move about in. The lava 
was being left behind, and sagebrush prairies 
lay in front. Water was getting scarcer, and 
we found that we had a lono; dry stretch between 
us and the river, the only intervening oasis 
beino- Mud Lake, which we found to be very 
nearly dry, and farther on Market Lake, a body 
of water about two miles lon^ r and about half a 
mile wide. 



i94 Bucking the Sagebrush 



& £5 



We reached the first about four in the after- 
noon and let the cattle down to drink, first 
taking the precaution to fill the water barrel 
before they had stirred up the mud. As it 
was, the water was very bitter and warm. 
However, we decided to camp for the night 
and made our preparations, but we reckoned 
without our host. At sundown we received a 
visit from a swarm of mosquitoes that beat 
anything in that line I have ever seen — Jersey 
even, could not touch it. The cattle and 
horses walked off and left us, so we had to 
follow, but even this flight offered little relief. 
Each animal carried about ten thousand in- 
sects with it, and, for about two hours, or until 
the chill dew began to put them out of busi- 
ness, w r e did nothing but fight the insects with 
both hands. They got so unbearable that we 
took the black wagon grease from the wheels 
and smeared our faces and hands to keep them 
away. For three days they stayed with us, 
and at the end of that time we all looked as 
though we had mumps and smallpox combined. 
The glands in the neck swelled up, and, I be- 
lieve, had the pest lasted, some of us would 
have become ill. 

Just after leaving Market Lake we had our 
first close interview with a band of Bannocks. 



Swimming Snake River 195 

They overtook us one afternoon rather unex- 
pectedly. We learned afterwards that this 
party was one of many who were sneaking 
back to the reservation, owing to the fact that 
the war was over. Their chief, an Indian by 
the name of Eagan, had been inveigled into a 
trap by a Umatilla chief named Five Crows, 
and had been killed. That broke the back of 
the uprising, as Eagan was the ringleader in 
the whole business. 

In this party there were about a dozen 
bucks, but, as far as we could see, they carried 
no arms, although it was a dead sure thing 
that their blankets covered their weapons. 
That night they camped only a little way from 
us, and we had a chance to see how their fire 
department worked. They lighted four fires 
to keep them warm and turned in about 
dusk. 

It was a very still night and any sound trav- 
elled a long way. We did not trust the gentle- 
men implicitly, and thought it proper to put on 
a camp guard so as to be sure that none of 
our saddles would be missing in the morning. 
I took first guard and ensconced myself in the 
wagon, so that they could not see me and I 
would have a orood chance to detect them if 
they tried any crawling game. I noticed that 



196 Bucking the Sagebrush 

at intervals some one of them would replenish 
the fires, but otherwise they were all as dead 
as mackerel. 

At twelve I awoke a man named Hill, who 
had the reputation of being somewhat of a 
joker, and, after handing him the gun and am- 
munition, I got under the blankets as soon as 
possible. Mr. Hill, however, decided to have 
his little fun, and some time in the night dis- 
charged his piece in the air. Naturally, we all 
jumped to our feet, expecting all sorts of things, 
but the only thing we saw was the four fires 
go out as though they had fallen through the 
ground. The sound of the shot had hardly 
died before their camp was as black as your 
hat. How they did it I don't know, but I sup- 
pose they smothered them with their blankets. 

When daylight came they were gone, but I 
can swear I did not hear a sound, nor did any 
one else. This is an illustration of Indian 
stealth. I believe that had they wanted any- 
thing in our shop they would have got it, 
guard or no guard. 

Before we reached their reservation at Fort 
Hall we had visits from several more bands of 
the same kind, but the only trouble they gave 
us was loitering about the wagon whenever 
they got a chance, and always begging for 



Swimming Snake River 197 

something. They would gather the coffee 
grounds thrown out after each meal and put 
them in their filthy handkerchiefs to be boiled 
again for their own use. 

We struck the river and the main travelled 
stage and freight road to Montana at the same 
time, and here, for the first time in a month, 
we began to meet white people in the shape 
of bull whackers and mule skinners, with their 
freight trains. At that time every pound of 
freight that went into Montana from the south 
was hauled there by teams along this road, — 
provisions, mining machinery, everything, — so 
although not quite as crowded as Broadway, it 
was a pretty busy thoroughfare. There were 
also daily mail stages each way, and we found 
we could post a letter, which seemed quite 
civilized. We met one eight mule team stuck 
in a mud-hole, and, after giving them assist- 
ance, we found that the cargo consisted of 
dynamite. We immediately found our busi- 
ness was pressing in an opposite direction. 

One thing that cheered us was that we knew 
that at Taylor's or Eagle Rock Bridge, a few 
days' journey below, we should find a store 
and be able to replenish our stock of pro- 
visions. I assure you that mush three times 
a day may be all very well for chickens, but for 



198 Bucking the Sagebrush 

healthy men, riding twelve and fourteen hours 
out of every twenty-four, it is not a nourishing 
diet. 

Taylor's Bridge is where the Utah Northern 
Railroad now crosses, and it must have been 
a mine of wealth to the owners. The river 
narrows at this point, and in the middle a 
natural stone pier rises from its bed, so that 
the two spans are not much more than thirty 
yards long. The road comes up the river on 
the east side until it gets there and then fol- 
lows up on the west bank. 

Everything, therefore, that could not swim 
had to pay toll to cross, and that meant a 
great many dollars. There was no way of 
getting out of it. The proprietors of the 
bridge were monopolists of the worst kind. 
It was owned at that time by a family named 
Taylor, who inherited it from their father. 
But the king on the throne was a man named 
Jack Anderson. He was about fifty years old 
and fine looking, with a long gray beard which 
reached almost to his waist. The settlement 
consisted of the store, a blacksmith shop, and 
the house the Taylors lived in. They owned 
all the land about the bridge and did not care 
to have neighbors. 

After buying our bill of groceries we were 



Swimming Snake River 199 

treated to some bottled beer, and then began 
to bargain as to toll charges. 

I omitted to state that about a week before, 
or just after we struck the river, we overtook 
another herd owned by a firm named Lee & 
Bluett from Nebraska. They had about two 
thousand steers and had started ahead of us a 
long time, but got scared by the tales of the 
war and had gone into a fortified camp just 
west of the Camas Prairie, and had stayed 
there about a month, which accounted for 
their not being any farther on their journey. 

They were also kicking at the price, which 
was five cents a head for all loose animals and 
other things in proportion. We all decided not 
to cross them, but take our chances of finding 
a place to swim farther down. One potent 
argument was that there had been no herds 
driven down the west bank so far that year, and, 
therefore, we knew that grass would be plenty. 

Fort Hall was thirty-five miles down and 
that was where the trail left the river to cross 
the mountains to the east. As we dropped 
down at the rate of six or eight miles a day, 
we saw that the stream was becoming wider 
and less rapid, but the banks were high and 
steep, and crossing began to look rather 
doubtful. 



200 Bucking the Sagebrush 

One of the men in Bluett's outfit has cause 
to remember Snake River as long as he lives, 
and, although his experience was laughable, it 
was only so to the rest of us. I have forgotten 
his name, but I remember him well as being a 
great big, fine looking chap, and as strong as 
an ox. He came from Bluett's home town of 
Fremont, Nebraska, and was a typical farmer's 
lad. At one place, which looked promising, 
about thirty miles below the bridge, he volun- 
teered to swim across and see how swift the 
current was, and if the shore on the other 
side was shelving enough to allow the cattle 
to land. 

His offer was accepted, and he stripped to 
the buff and struck out like Leander. The 
distance across was probably three hundred 
yards, and no one doubted that he could easily 
do it. When half-way across, to our dismay, 
we saw he was in trouble, and, in fact, sank 
entirely from sight for a minute. He came 
up, however, but it was apparent that he was 
rapidly getting exhausted. We could do no- 
thing, although one man started to swim to 
him on a horse, but before he got down to the 
edge of the water the swimmer had found 
bottom and waded out. 

He lay on his back and did not move for 



Swimming Snake River 201 

some minutes, and looked as though he was 
dead. He got up after a while and then 
began a conversation which was luxuriant as 
to expression. He shouted over to us that 
the suction was so great that he would not 
dare try to swim back, and the problem was 
to get to him with food and raiment. Thirty- 
miles up and thirty miles down meant sixty 
and that meant a day and a night travelling 
with the horses in the condition ours were. 
Moreover, the man was as naked as Adam, 
and there was not a bush or a tree big enough 
to shelter a dog, and we knew that when night 
came it would turn bitterly cold. As his 
supply of matches was decidedly limited we 
did not envy him his position. 

No time was lost, and a man with his horse 
and clothes was started for the trip with orders 
to get a relay at Taylor's store at the bridge 
if his horses gave out. It was about ten or 
eleven in the morning, and all that day we 
saw that poor chap standing like a graven 
image close up under the bank to save him- 
self from the sun's rays. 

As night came on we lit a big fire on a knoll 
about opposite where he was, so as to guide 
the man who was riding to his relief. We 
sang to him, and did all we could to keep his 



202 Bucking the Sagebrush 

spirits up, but that was a long night for all of 
us. It is no easy thing to ride across sixty 
miles of unknown country leading another 
horse at night and make time, especially if 
that sixty miles is along the banks of a wind- 
ing stream and over sagebrush. 

About one or two o'clock we heard some 
one hallooing, and, not long afterwards, we 
knew that the rescuer had arrived. It was a 
great relief when we saw the glimmer of a fire 
on the other bank. Had the man not been as 
tough as nails, I think he would have suc- 
cumbed, but as it was, the only ill effects he 
showed was the blistering of his body. His 
skin " peeled " from head to foot. 

The next day we found a suitable place just 
opposite to where the town of Blackfoot, Idaho, 
now stands. A man named Danielson had a 
little jerk-water ferry consisting of a flat-bot- 
tomed boat large enough to hold half a dozen 
men, and run on the same principle as the 
larger one at McDowell's. The river here is 
divided by a low, sandy island so that the act- 
ual swimming distance was very short. With 
the experience we already had had, we knew 
how to go about it, and held out until late 
in the afternoon. By five both herds had 
crossed. 



Swimming Snake River 203 



L <^ 



There is another feature about swimming 
cattle that must be mentioned. It is fatal, if, 
for any cause, the animals are frightened just 
before they take the water. If that happens, 
what is called a "water stampede " results, and 
drovers who have been unfortunate enough 
to have this happen, have been delayed a 
week or ten days trying to get the idea out 
of the stupid heads of their charges. They 
will allow themselves to be brought to the very 
verge of the river, and perhaps drink, but all of 
a sudden, some steer will bawl and away they 
go beyond any power to hold them. 

Most of us swam the river either on the 
horses or along side of them. If a horse is a 
poor swimmer, or timid, he will try to touch 
bottom with his hind feet and in doing so goes 
completely under water. The only thing to do 
then is to drop off on the lower side and hang 
to the horn of the saddle or else to his tail. 
By doing this you are out of the way of his 
hoofs as he beats the water. 

The main problem was to get our wagon 
and bedding across without a wetting. This 
was finally accomplished by loading the blank- 
ets and provisions on the ferry and then taking 
the wagon to pieces and making a raft, which 
we pulled across by ropes. It was easy enough, 



204 Bucking the Sagebrush 

but took a long time, and our supper that night 
was not luxurious. 

The next day we left the river and struck 
east to cross a range of hills. Our road led us 
across the Bannock reservation and by Fort 
Hall. This was a one-company post and a de- 
scription of it would be that of many others 
scattered at that time all through the West. It 
is hard to realize in these days of railroads and 
large regimental posts, what forlorn and lonely 
places these were. 

This particular post was not at all bad as far as 
the situation went. It was in a little valley, and 
the view of the mountains and plains left noth- 
ing to be desired in the way of scenery, but 
the fact that it was the only spot showing any 
signs of civilization in a radius of probably from 
sixty to one hundred miles detracted somewhat 
from the enjoyment. The nearest railway 
terminus was at Logan, Utah, about one hun- 
dred miles south, the end then of the Utah 
Northern, and the nearest settlement was 
Soda Springs, which contained about twenty 
houses and was sixty miles distant. The com- 
mand comprised one company of infantry num- 
bering at the outside about thirty men, with 
possibly two or three officers, including the 
doctor. 



Swimming Snake River 205 

The buildings consisted of barracks, a large 
barn and two or three officers' quarters, and 
some other buildings used by the sutler and 
quartermaster. They were built around the 
four sides of a square, or parade, with a flag- 
staff in the centre. I don't remember what 
regiment was represented, but when we passed, 
the place was deserted, except by a small 
guard, as the troops had not returned from the 
front. There may have been some women 
there, but we did not see them. The place 
has since been abandoned by the army and 
turned into an Indian school. 

Civilization was brought disagreeably home 
to us, however, by the fact that beer and 
whiskey were sold at the sutler's store. The 
consequence was that before we got well away 
from that neighborhood, about all of the boys 
succeeded in getting more or less filled up, 
and in two or three cases hopelessly and help- 
lessly drunk. As we travelled very slowly, 
we remained within reach of that damnable 
bar for about three days, and finally the only 
way we stopped the men from sneaking off 
at night was to ride back ourselves, and if we 
found their horses tied up outside of the 
saloon, we would lead them back to camp 
and thus compel the men to follow on foot 



206 Bucking the Sagebrush 

when they got sober. They all managed to 
get back, although one man came near get- 
ting himself into serious trouble by borrowing 
a horse without permission. We sent it back, 
however, and with a five dollar bill soothed the 
angry owner's feelings. A tramp of ten or 
fifteen miles, to a man unaccustomed to walk- 
ing, was a very good lesson. 

I had a narrow escape here from a very 
unpleasant experience. One very hot day I 
came across Lee and a couple of his men 
bathing in a pool. It looked most tempting 
and cool, and I was on the point of joining 
them, but was called away, and as bathing was 
not a necessary feature of the ordinary work, 
I forgot all about it. A couple of days after- 
wards these three men broke out all over with 
rash, caused by poisoned oak or ivy. I never 
saw anything like them. At first we thought 
it was smallpox, as there is always more or 
less of that disease among the Indians, but 
Rand, who joined us at Taylor's Bridge, had 
had experience as a drug clerk and recognized 
the symptoms in time to save a panic. Luckily, 
we had plenty of baking powder, so about twice 
a day we would strip the patients, and all 
hands would turn to and mop them with water 
in which the soda had been dissolved. 



CHAPTER XVII 

A LITTLE FLYER IN LOVE 

WE again came to a halt, partly on account 
of our invalids, but more for the pur- 
pose of doctoring our drag of cripples and 
sore-backed horses. We had left Bluett's 
herd in the rear and once more had the trail 
to ourselves. During our stay an amusing 
thing happened to two of the boys. About a 
mile from camp, Mellick, our horse wrangler, 
discovered that a Mormon family, consisting 
of two men and several women, had taken 
temporary possession of a deserted ranch. 
In those days all Mormons seemed to travel 
with milk cows and chickens, and these were 
no exception. 

If there are any two things a cowboy loves 
and gets little of, they are milk and butter. 
So, when the news spread that there were 
dairy products in sight, a committee of two, a 
puncher, nicknamed Chub, and Bill Edwards 

207 



208 Bucking the Sagebrush 

were detailed to take a couple of camp kettles 
and bring back anything that looked like milk 
or butter. There was no trouble in buying 
what we wanted, but we noticed that these 
two men, in spite of the difficulty of carrying 
milk-pails a mile or two on horseback, were 
always ready to go on the errand. It soon 
was noised about that one of the younger 
women was considered very attractive, but in 
spite of every effort on the part of the cow- 
boys she would not permit them to get farther 
than a bowing acquaintance, and they never 
were asked inside the house. 

This wounded Chub's pride, and he finally 
thought out a scheme whereby he might be 
able to break the ice. The plan was to have 
Bill Edwards ride a horse in his string named 
Rattler, who, although naturally docile, could 
be made to buck by cinching him hard with 
the flank-cinch and spurring him in the shoul- 
der. Bill was to ride down to the ranch and 
at the appointed time and place, which was 
arranged to be just as they reached the front 
of the house, he was to make Rattler buck and 
fall off and act as if he was badly injured. It 
was hoped that this would excite pity in the 
hearts of the Mormon ladies and cause them 
to bring him in to minister to his hurts. 



A Little Flyer in Love 209 

The first part of the plan worked like a 
charm. Rattler bucked, Bill fell off, and Chub 
started off after Rattler, who lit out at top 
speed as soon as he felt himself free. Un- 
fortunately, however, Chub's horse stepped into 
a hole, sent his rider flying, and joined his 
friend Rattler in a little "pasear" over the 
prairie. When Bill fell off, he landed harder 
than he expected and had scraped the whole 
side of his face, but he picked himself up and 
limped towards the house, expecting to see the 
inmates run to his assistance. Chub described 
what followed. 

"When I got on my feet and found my 
bones all in place," he said, " I loped up to the 
tabernacle and seen Bill sitting on the stoop 
with his head tied up like a squaw. I says to 
him, ' Why in hell don't you go in ? ' Bill says, 
' Go in, you damn fool, there ain't nobody here, 
the hull outfit stampeded last night, grub-wagon 
and all.' " 

The first we knew of the failure of the plot 
was when we saw the two discomfited mashers 
hoofing it into camp. So much for trying to 
flirt with Mormon ladies. It proved as Bill 
said. For some unknown reason, the Mor- 
mons, like the Arab, folded their blankets and 
silently stole away at break of day. 



210 Bucking the Sagebrush 

We might have chaffed the pair a good deal 
if we had not been so anxious about this time 
on account of the prolonged absence of Mel- 
lick who had gone in search of a wild mare 
that had vamosed one morning after she had 
been caught up with a view to breaking her to 
saddle. When she broke away she took a long 
rope with her, dragging it over the prairie. 
Had the animal been an ordinary cayuse we 
would not have bothered much, but she was a 
full-blooded American filly for which we had 
traded sometime back. She was a beauty to 
look at, and everybody predicted she would be 
a daisy when broken either to saddle or har- 
ness and for that reason we were anxious to 
recover her. 

Mellick had started on her trail within an 
hour after her escape and now, after three days' 
absence, we began to think something had gone 
wrong. 

I dwell on this incident largely to show what 
chances we took and how the risks were looked 
upon as being all in a day's work. A man goes 
out in a country absolutely unknown to him, 
practically uninhabited, with a possibility of 
getting lost or meeting stray bands of un- 
friendly Indians. He has only enough food to 
last him a day or two and it is not until the 



A Little Flyer in Love 211 

third day that any one begins to have any 
anxiety as to his welfare. 

Mellick turned up pretty nearly starved but 
leading his captive nevertheless. With the 
exception of one meal he had obtained from a 
friendly prospector whom he found camped in 
the hills and who had assisted him in trailing 
the mare, he had had nothing to eat for over 
thirty-six hours — except chewing tobacco. His 
pony had given out several times, but he stuck 
to his job until he found the object of his search 
nearly forty miles from camp. The rope had 
become entangled in some sagebrush and this 
brought her to a standstill. Had he not run 
her down she would have died from thirst and 
starvation. It is a pity we ever found her, as 
she turned out to be an outlaw or spoiled 
horse. Before we finally shot her she badly 
injured one man and broke up a hundred dol- 
lar spring wagon. 

By scouting ahead, we knew we were coming 
to the big bend of Bear River, and a few days 
after we had an exciting race to get to the 
canon ahead of another herd we saw approach- 
ing from the southwest on what is known as the 
Sublette Cut-off. Not expecting anything from 
that quarter, we were taken by surprise and at 
a disadvantage. The country all through this 



212 Bucking the Sagebrush 

section is volcanic, with lava formation. In 
iact there are several mounds which are said by 
amateurs to be the craters of extinct volcanoes. 

We had dropped the cattle off the trail to the 
south, where we found a patch of good grass 
and were allowing them to graze, when we 
noticed the dust-cloud, which always denotes 
a herd of cattle. A man was sent off to inves- 
tigate and returned with the report that there 
was a herd of several thousand big steers, 
heading for the Bear River Canon. We did 
not want them to get ahead for obvious rea- 
sons, and immediately we rounded up the herd 
and started the leaders as rapidly as we could 
towards the mouth of the canon in order to 
hold it until the tail end could be driven up. 
The men with the other herd had seen us 
about the same time and were driving for the 
same purpose. 

About a mile from the point we were trying 
to reach we were brought to a full stop by an 
abyss in the form of a crevasse in the lava, 
from six to twenty feet wide, and extending 
along our front as far as we could see. By this 
time we were near enough to see the other cat- 
tle and the men tearing up and down, doing 
their utmost to shove them along. I thought 
the game was up, when one of the boys discov- 



A Little Flyer in Love 213 

ered a narrow causeway not more than twenty 
to thirty feet wide, which spanned the breach 
about five hundred yards to the left of where 
our lead cattle were. 

Cows, chickens, and women generally try to 
go the wrong way in sudden emergencies, and 
so it was that day. I thought we never would 
get those fool brutes to see where the crossing 
was. Finally they started and then we had to 
wait while they dribbled over. We did not 
dare crowd them too hard, as it would have 
been an easy matter to get a hundred of them 
down the crevasse or start them running in the 
wrong direction. During the time that it took 
for about four hundred head to cross, I believe 
I must have chewed up about five pounds of 
tobacco in my efforts to keep cool. When at 
last we began to move, the yells of the men 
with the other herd could be easily distin- 
guished, and that proved too much for all 
hands, so we just started the bunch on a dead 
run for the river and beat the other fellow by 
about fifteen minutes. 

We should surely have lost the race if it had 
not been for the fact that their cattle had gone 
many hours without water. When the herd 
struck the river below the bend they stopped 
right there to drink, and all the profanity of 



2H Bucking the Sagebrush 

which cowboys are capable could not keep 
them going. This delay gave us time to get 
well up into the gap ahead of them. 

When I found out who was in charge of that 
herd, I thanked my stars that their leaders 
stopped of their own volition. Otherwise they 
would have been driven over or under, or 
through us, no matter what the consequences. 
After our drag had come up and we had 
moved to a safe distance, I started back to 
find out what sort of an outfit we had behind 
us. I had noticed that the cattle were Texan 
and the herd a large one, and asked the first 
boy I met the usual questions as to number, 
road brand, destination, and ownership, and 
where they were from. I found they had 
started with 4000 head (1500 being big 
steers) from Cherry Creek, Nevada, sold by 
Keogh Bros, to a man named Stewart, were 
going to the Sweetwater River in Wyoming 
Territory, and were in charge of a man named 
Blanco. This was the herd we tried to buy in 
Nevada. 

Just then Blanco himself rode up. I had 
met him a year before at Laramie and knew 
him at once. When he recognized me his 
greeting was more than cordial, but couched 
in the most expressive and vigorous language 



A Little Flyer in Love 215 

of the trail. It ran, as I remember, something 
like this : 

" You little son of , what in h 

are you doing here ? " All of this was ac- 
companied by a smile, almost fatherly in its 
quality. 

Blanco was a simon-pure Texan cowboy and 
all 'round hard man, without any bluff. I think 
he had the most cruel face I ever saw on 
a white man, and yet I know that he had a 
warm heart and was most appreciative of any 
kindness. 

He was then fifty-three years old, although 
to look at him you would not have taken him 
for more than forty. His back was as straight 
as an arrow and his frame spare and wiry. 
He was dressed in a suit of confederate gray, 
with the spring bottom, open sided trousers 
and short bolero of the Mexican. A big stiff 
broad brimmed hat and a very dirty ragged 
crimson sash around his waist, underneath his 
pistol belt, completed his costume. He wore 
a mustache that was getting gray and he 
kept it trimmed straight across his thin-lipped 
mouth. He had green eyes that glittered like 
steel, and, as the eyelids were somewhat in- 
flamed from the glare and dust, the expression 
was anything but attractive. 



216 Bucking the Sagebrush 

Blanco's career had been a varied one, and 
not lacking in incident. As a youngster he 
had been a rider on the pony mail between 
Kansas City and San Francisco, his route be- 
ing somewhere in the neighborhood of Jules- 
burg, Nebraska, a pretty desperate country 
at the time. During the Civil War he was 
a Texas Ranger, and across the interim, be- 
tween 1865 and when I first knew him in 1876, 
I imagine a veil can be drawn. He served 
two years and a half in the penitentiary in 
Wyoming, having been sent up, I think, in 
'74, for an assault on Judge Orr of Cheyenne, 
for whom he was working at that time. This 
little affair illustrates what a really angelic 
temper the man had. 

One day he came to town riding one of 
Judge Orr's ponies. He dropped into a gam- 
bling house for a little diversion and remained 
there practically for a day. Meantime, some 
one had reported that his horse was tied out- 
side, and was liable to perish from cold and 
hunger. Judge Orr, with a mistaken idea of 
his rights as owner of the horse, had it taken 
to the stable. 

When Blanco finally got through bucking 
the tiger and, no doubt, feeling a little mo- 
rose over the manner in which he had been 




BLANCO 



A Little Flyer in Love 217 

relieved of his money, came to look for his 
horse he could not find him. At first he was 
shocked, and, after taking several drinks he 
decided he was insulted. Forthwith he pro- 
ceeded to find out who was guilty of this 
breach of cowboy etiquette. The idea of a 
man of his standing among the cow-punchers 
being put afoot, without his consent, when he 
had his own saddle on the horse, was a thing 
not to be tolerated. First thing he knew 
some one would take him for a sheep-herder, 
etc. 

It was an easy matter for him to learn who 
had given the obnoxious order. Luckily for 
all hands he had " soaked " his shooting iron 
at the gambling house for a stake; otherwise 
the Wyoming bar would have been shy a 
member, and I never would have had the 
pleasure of meeting Blanco. He had, there- 
fore to make the best of a bad job with a 
knife. After carving his employer and a clerk 
into insensibility, he calmly proceeded to the 
stable, removed his saddle, and informed the 
proprietor of the barn that the outfit did not 
need his services any longer. 

Orr did not die, nor did the clerk, but Blanco 
was tried and sentenced to five years at hard 
labor in the Wyoming Penitentiary. He told 



218 Bucking the Sagebrush 

me that Orr got his time reduced, because he 
knew that if Blanco served the full term he 
would cut Orr's head off as the first piece of 
hard work after his release. Blanco would 
have done it, too. 

I first met Blanco in Laramie City, when he 
came out of prison, and gave him a job at the 
request of the warden. We were haying at 
the time, and I put him on a mowing-machine, 
as I thought it was the nearest thing to a buck- 
ing bronco that I knew of. He stuck to his 
job until the time came for the fall round up, 
but I believe he broke up more sickles and 
castings on that machine than any man ever 
did before or since. The rougher the ground 
the more he seemed to enjoy it, and you could 
hear him yelling a mile off. 

By way of relaxation he busted four broncos 
for us, and on a bet of two dollars tackled one 
of the worst outlaws in that section. How a 
man of his age could stand the jarring he got 
has always been a puzzle to me. The name 
of the horse was Muldoon, bestowed on him, I 
suppose, from his knack of falling on people 
and crushing the life out of them. But he 
met something as tough as he was when Blanco 
stepped into the ring. Muldoon's method was 
to stand perfectly still while being saddled and 




STA— Y WITH HIM, BLANCO : 



A Little Flyer in Love 219 

bridled, but the second a man got seated he 
would rear straight in the air and throw him- 
self backward, or he would buck up to the 
side of a corral and then hurl himself against 
it. 

He tried all these tricks, but in vain. Blanco, 
for a wonder, was absolutely silent, but I knew 
he was boiling within. This could be seen by 
the way he dug his spurs into the brute to 
make him get up after he had thrown himself. 
The end was tragic and looked like suicide. 
The horse after a few rounds of furious buck- 
ing got fairly exhausted, and was covered with 
dust, sweat, and blood. He had just made one 
of his backward lunges, and Blanco was on the 
ground. With a squeal of rage Muldoon stood 
up on his hind legs, made a couple of vicious 
drives with his fore feet at his tormentor, who 
had not had time to mount him, and fell back. 
He never moved a^ain. His neck had been 
broken. 

These few delicate touches, I hope, will 
show you what kind of a hairpin my friend 
was. Poor old chap, the last I heard of him 
was that he had gone crazy and was confined 
in an asylum. But prior to that I had several 
letters from him, written in jail at Reno, 
Nevada, where another shooting scrape had 



220 Bucking the Sagebrush 

landed him. I sold a horse that he had left 
in my care and sent him the money. I have 
always regretted that I did not keep his let- 
ters. They certainly were in a class by them- 
selves. 



^r^.Cw 





CHAPTER XVIII 

COWBOY FUN AND ITS USUAL SEQUEL 

ABOUT five miles from the mouth of the 
canon where we met Blanco, we came to 
the settlement known as Soda Springs. We 
were much surprised to find that the buildings 
were much more pretentious than the size of 
the place seemed to warrant. There were quite 
a number of comfortable-looking cottages, and 
the place even boasted of a public common 
and a hotel. There was the " co-op " store, 
which showed the presence of the Mormon, 
and altogether, it seemed quite metropolitan. 
The reason for all this was, that Brigham 
Young liked the place and had tried to make 
it a sort of Saratoga for the Saints. Had he 
lived no doubt he would have succeeded. 

The springs in the neighborhood are cer- 
tainly remarkable, and no doubt have as much 
virtue — medicinally — as any other health resort 
waters. As curiosities, they rank with some of 

221 



222 Bucking the Sagebrush 

the wonders of the Yellowstone. In the centre 
of the town there stood a perfect dome-shaped 
mound about twenty feet high, yellowish-white 
in color. On climbing to the top, which was 
somewhat difficult, owing to the smoothness, 
one discovered a small jet of water about five 
inches in diameter spouting up for as many 
inches into the air. The water was lukewarm 
and had a slightly salt taste. The mound had 
been made by the gradual encrustation or for- 
mation of the lime in the water. 

Another spring, known as " ninety per cent." 
because it contained that amount of soda, 
bubbled from the side of a hill. All the 
springs were effervescent, so much so that 
small birds were frequently asphyxiated while 
trying to drink at them. A mile or two from 
town on the open prairie were several springs, 
probably thirty feet in diameter, of perfectly 
clear water bubbling like a glass of champagne, 
from what seemed a fathomless depth, for no 
bottom was visible. Within ten feet of one 
of these clear springs would be another of 
boiling mud, and, a little farther on, one of 
sulphur. 

I believe that some large brewing firm of 
Milwaukee has put up bottling works and now 
ships this natural "fizz" water all over the world. 



Cowboy Fun 223 

I afterwards came back to this place and made 
of it summer headquarters while ranging our 
cattle on the Blackfoot bottoms, and found 
that the waters of these springs acted as a first- 
class antidote to the red-eye whiskey which was 
sold over the bar at the saloon in the village. 
In fact, I think, had it not been for the anti- 
dote we all should have been permanently 
" locoed " from the whiskey. 

Another tragedy happened here, due to 
whiskey, which lost us a good man and cost 
him a year in the penitentiary at Boise City. 
His name was Howard ; he was one of the men 
we hired at Boise and claimed to come from 
California. He proved to be a first-class cow- 
boy, an expert with a six-shooter, but, withal, 
a very quiet mannered chap. One leg was 
shorter than the other, which I attributed to 
hip trouble, but I found out afterward that he 
had been shot. 

Naturally, the saloon at Soda Springs was 
the magnet that drew every man from all three 
of the herds, Bluett's, Blanco's, and ours, who 
could get away and had a dollar to spend. 
When about twenty cowboys, most of whom 
are armed, " wild and woolly and hard to curry," 
get together in a saloon for the first time in 
several months, and all have something coming 



224 Bucking the Sagebrush 

in the way of wages, you can usually bet your 
saddle that trouble will be brewing-. 

I may particularly add that at this meeting 
the delegation from Blanco's outfit was all that 
could be desired in the way of bibulous con- 
viviality. They were Nevada buckeroos, and 
that thickly populated State could turn out a 
finished article in the way of hard-riding, gun- 
playing, noise-producing yaps. Every few 
minutes, the leader — evidently anxious that 
no mistakes be made as to their identification 
or occupation — would yell : 

" I 'm a bold, bad man and a desperader, 
Came to town on a green tornader ; 
I vampsed around like a wild gezaber, 
And every time I took a drink, 
Whoop — N evader." 

No further intimation was necessary. Quick 
action was immediately forthcoming from the 
bartender. Slowness of comprehension in like 
cases has been followed by fatal results. To 
add to the sociability of the occasion, there 
were also present a few of the Mormon punch- 
ers and some nondescripts or transients, who 
may have been there for their health. 

To attempt in anyway to curb the revelry and 
exhilaration of the men would have been fool- 



Cowboy Fun 225 

hardy in the extreme. Arguments are lost on 
cowboys full of whiskey and with more in sight, 
and the owners kept out of the way as much as 
possible and relied on the lack of money or 
credit, and inflammation of the lining of the 
stomach to bring the men to a realizing sense of 
their duty. We brought the herd safely through 
the town, camped on an open prairie about five 
miles beyond, and waited to give the boys a 
chance to finish their spree. 

Early one morning, Howard rode in, woke 
Rand, and told him he had shot a man in town, 
but had not stopped to find out if he had 
killed him. He had no idea who his victim 
was, but he knew he did not belong to any of the 
cow outfits. Knowing that sometimes people 
got hasty with a rope in those days, we told 
him to take his blankets and some grub and run 
for the hills until we could find out what had 
happened. 

As soon as daylight was strong and we had 
breakfasted, we rode in to investigate. The 
man was dead sure enough, and his body was 
lying in the corner of the saloon with a towel 
thrown over his face. A good many of the 
Mormon natives had collected and were doing 
a lot of talking about what they were going to 
do. We found that the man was a stranger 



226 Bucking the Sagebrush 



that had drifted in. no one knew where from, 
and that his death, really, had been acci- 
dental. 

There is a very annoying habit that is ac- 
quired by some cowboys of making a man 
dance while shooting at his heels. The habit 
generally manifests itself when said cowboy is 
loaded as well as his gun. There need not 
necessarily be any ill feeling or a wish to hu- 
miliate the dancer. In fact, if talent is dis- 
played by him, it may be taken as a sign of 
approval on the part of the shooter — applause, 
in fact. In this case, I think the latter assump- 
tion held. All accounts agreed that the stranger 
was an artist and had endeared himself during 
the evening to his audience, so much so that 
his drinks came often. 

Howard, poor fellow, being a cripple himself, 
naturally admired him more than the others, 
and for that reason began to keep time for him. 
Somehow, in swinging his pistol, the middle 
finder through the trioro>er-o;uard acting as a 
pivot, he had discharged it too soon and the 
bullet went through the dancer's stomach. It 
must have hit his spine, as they say he only 
lived a few minutes. 

We all contributed toward his funeral ex- 
penses and hoped that would be the end of it, 



Cowboy Fun 227 

but somebody got busy and about a week after- 
wards the sheriff overtook us. Howard could 
have escaped, and, I think, had he killed the 
man in a tight, he would have attempted to do 
so. But he felt very remorseful, and as we all 
were very sure that any jury would acquit him, 
he surrendered himself. He turned up at Lar- 
amie the next year and told us they had sent 
him to prison for a year, one of the vagaries 
of a Western jury. 

" 111 blows the wind that profits nobody," and 
this accident rather cooled things off, and for a 
while everything was very gentle. I went back 
as far as Soda Springs with Howard and the 
sheriff, and happening to meet Bluett, we de- 
cided to take a rest. Owing to the attraction 
of the saloon, we had been short-handed. It 
had fallen on the bosses to do extra night work, 
and I was pretty well worn out. A Mrs. Wil- 
liams, bless her ! kept the hotel. It had but 
three rooms, but she was a good cook and 
there was any amount of milk and eggs, and 
for three blissful days Bluett and I camped. 
We slept in sheets all night and on a lounge 
and in a big armchair all day, except when we 
were eatino;. We had fried chicken and fresh 
vegetables and all the eo-as and milk we wanted, 
and Mrs. Williams to soothe us. She was 



228 Bucking the Sagebrush 

rather a good-looking woman, about thirty 
years of age and most sympathetic. 

A remark of Bluett's at the time shows the 
state of mind a man gets into after three or 
four consecutive months on the trail. During 
a lucid moment just after dinner one day, he 
mumbled to himself : 

" If I live to get through this trip, I hope I 
never will hear a cow bawl again as long as I 
live." 

To any one accustomed to the luxuries of 
civilization, the fact of sleeping in a bed 
between sheets and sitting down to a meal 
served on a table with " fixin's " and a cloth 
does not, perhaps, seem an event to be noted. 
But let that same person go for three or four 
months without taking all his clothes off at 
the same time, squat on his heels while eating; 
let his diet be meat, bread, and coffee straight ; 
and let him lie down to sleep always with a 
dread of being waked in the night by an alarm 
followed by the hubbub of a stampede, and he 
will know what these three days of rest and 
perfect calm meant to us. 

All things good and bad come to an end, 
so, after dinner on the third day, we set out 
to overtake our respective outfits. The next 
two days we spent in Blanco's camp. It was 



Cowboy Fun 229 

a hard game and no mistake. They seemed 
to be short of everything, and their horses 
were in a terrible condition. I volunteered a 
little sympathy in the matter and was told that 
they had no horses ; everybody was afoot, etc. 
It was a fact that the men on the drag were 
mostly walking and leading their horses. The 
only thing they had to eat that was decent 
was some jerky or dried beef. It was the best 
I ever tasted, and I had a chance during the 
next day or so to see how it was prepared. 

The two Mexican horse herders had charge 
of its manufacture, and as they were about to 
start on a new batch, I saw the whole process. 
A fat heifer about two years old, which had 
been bought or stolen from some Mormon 
ranch, was killed and skinned. The meat, 
except what was used immediately for the 
wants of the mess, was cut from the carcass in 
long, thin strips. The whole mass was then 
liberally sprinkled with salt, wrapped up in 
the green or damp hide of the animal, and 
put away overnight to allow it to sweat. By 
this process the animal heat is drawn from 
the meat. 

The next day the hide is opened and the 
contents thoroughly mixed up, salted some 
more, and returned for another baking. After 



230 Bucking the Sagebrush 



about forty-eight hours of this the meat has 
become well saturated with the salt and has a 
bluish hue. It is then spread out on a wagon 
sheet in the sun whenever a halt is made, and 
in a day or so it hardens into something that 
looks like sole leather. The difference, how- 
ever, is that when you take a piece and hold 
it to the fire on the end of a pointed stick 
you will soon have a tender, juicy morsel 
all seasoned to taste. 

Like all recipes, a great deal depends on the 
skill of the person preparing it The Mexicans 
"savey" just the length of time to keep it 
baking to insure its being tender without 
allowing it to spoil, and I also think they put 
chili peppers in it to give it a flavor. I traded 
some flour and sugar for a couple of gunny 
sacks full of the " jerky," and it was a great 
treat. When the boys came in from herd at 
night they would go straight for the bag and 
cook a supper for themselves before turn- 
ing in. 




CHAPTER XIX 

A WILD NIGHT 

A DAY or two after I joined the herd we 
had about as wild a night as I ever saw 
or want to see. Owing to some obstacles, 
such as Mormon ranches, which were scat- 
tered about, and our approach to a settlement 
called Montpelier, the three herds, Bluett's, 
our own, and Blanco's, had got rather too close 
together for comfort, although I think we 
should have gradually pulled out to safe dis- 
tances had not the elements conspired to make 
a mess of it all. Thunder-storms, although not 
as frequent as in the East, are about as vio- 
lent as an ordinary man cares to see when they 
are of normal proportions. 

We had several days of very hot weather, 
and at sundown things looked rather squally. 
We had no tents to blow down, in fact nothing 
on that would hurt, and for this reason paid 
little attention, except to notice that the light- 

231 



232 Bucking the Sagebrush 

ning seemed rather sharp. I think we sent an 
extra man on herd, and I told Mellick not to 
get too far from camp, and if the storm be- 
came worse and he thought there would be 
trouble, to bring the horses in. 

Bluett was to leeward and Blanco to wind- 
ward, and at times we could plainly hear 
Blanco's men howling like coyotes, but as 
that seemed to be their favorite amusement, 
it did not worry us. We were on a high 
plateau, between two ranges of hills which 
sloped gradually to the shores of Bear Lake 
to the south. The surface of the ground was 
rolling, with now and then a steep bluff, and 
was scored in all directions by coulees, or deep 
ditches made by the water running down from 
the high land in the spring, all of which were 
dry at this season of the year. These coulees 
were from three feet to twenty broad and 
about the same in depth. The soil was a 
sort of yellow alkali, all right when dry, but 
worse than clay when wet. 

Our camp was on the edge of a small stream 
running into Bear River. There were a few 
shrubs on the banks, but as the creek de- 
scended the brush increased in height and 
thickness. We could see at some distance 
from us what looked like quite a patch of 



A Wild Night 233 

timber and which proved to be Bear Lake 
marshes. 

When I turned in I felt rather doubtful, 
but hoped the storm would switch off into the 
mountains, and with that consoling thought in 
my mind was soon sleeping the sleep, etc. It 
did not seem more than a minute, however, 
before I felt a kick and woke up to hear Flat- 
teau telling me to jump up lively, as the whole 
of Blanco's herd was on top of us. I think I 
have mentioned before that in a cow camp, 
when a man gets up, he is up, barring his 
shoes and hat, and that was my case. It was 
as dark as pitch, but the flashes of lightning 
were frequent enough to enable us to see 
something of our surroundings. 

The rain had not yet begun, and there was 
that lull with the feeling of dampness on the 
air, which comes just before the jig begins. 
However, things were moving, and when I 
got fairly awake I felt, with Flatteau, that 
Blanco's Texans were loose and coming our 
way, and from the noise I judged they were 
coming head down. 

Mellick, as usual, was Johnny on the Spot, 
and before any one had a chance to swear, he 
had his horses in camp. The crash of the 
elements and the tramping of the horses, 



234 Bucking the Sagebrush 

added to the bawling of the rapidly approach- 
ing cattle, the yells and oaths of the men, 
created a symphony that was calculated to 
raise hair on anything that lived in that par- 
ticular neighborhood. But we had to omit the 
applause and go to catching horses. 

The main thought was to get on to some- 
thing with four legs, and either head off those 
bellowing brutes that were coming through 
the black night on a dead run, with forked 
lightning prodding them in the rump at every 
jump, or else get into a hole and pull it in after 
us. Just then the rain came. No attempt 
was made to pick a horse — it was grab any- 
thing that was nearest. 

The horses were either overawed by the 
storm, or else appreciated the fact that their 
services were in demand. Horses always stand 
still in a storm. At all events, they stood to 
be caught, and it is here that I wish to again 
call your attention to the non-kicking trait in 
the cayuse or bronco. No one was kicked, 
although the loose ends of the ropes were 
being dragged about under their heels, and 
there were some unbroken colts in the band. 
Men were pushing and hitting them to get 
through or to reach another animal, but all 
they did was to try to avoid trouble. 



A Wild Night 235 

By some good chance, or else because he 
arranged it, I found my faithful Coalie at my 
elbow, and was hurrying him to where my 
saddle was, when Flatteau, clad in the long 
linen duster which he always wore, rushed up 
and asked what horse he should take. We 
had a buckskin named One-eyed Riley, which 
happened to be at hand, so I caught him up. 
One-eyed Riley had lost an eye in some en- 
counter with an enraged Indian. The loss of 
that eye seemed to have dampened his ambi- 
tion, and he never wished to move faster than 
a walk. So far, I had never seen any argu- 
ment strong enough to make him change his 
mind, but I was to get a surprise that night. 

Men work pretty fast under pressure, and it 
was not long before we were in the saddle and 
striking out in the direction in which we 
thought our herd was. A flash, or, rather, a 
series of flashes, of lightning showed me a 
bunch of steers stampeding and running east 
about two hundred yards off. The next flash 
revealed old Flatteau and Riley going like the 
wind in an opposite direction. Flatteaus linen 
duster was about the same color as Riley, and 
the lightning made them look like a phantom 
as they disappeared. 

Of all the mixed-up messes one can imagine, 



236 Bucking the Sagebrush 

this was the worst. The expected had hap- 
pened, and, evidently, the whole three herds 
had come together, making a bunch of be- 
tween eight and nine thousand head. Coalie 
showed his intelligence. When the ground 
was right he would run his best, but when we 
came to pitfalls he knew it and was cautious. 
We slid down bluffs and jumped into gullies 
and out, but never a misstep or stumble. I 
lost all track of direction or distance, but soon 
found myself or, rather, felt myself in the im- 
mediate vicinity of quite a bunch of animals 
that had come to a halt and evidently were 
telling one another how foolish it was for the 
others to be frightened about nothing. I knew 
their terror was over, for they were mooing, 
not bawling. By this time the worst of the 
storm had passed, and before long the stars 
began to show in places, although the thunder 
and lightning continued. 

There must have been mineral, probably 
iron, in the rocks about, for it seemed to me 
that the lightning struck the ground all about 
us. I found I was alone, but whom the cattle 
belonged to was a question. Soaked to the 
skin, I was not in a cheerful mind. I had not 
the faintest idea where my downy couch was, 
or, in fact, whether I had any left or not, as I 



A Wild Night 237 

felt morally sure that the pick of Blanco's 
rabble had galloped directly across where our 
blankets were lying. Soon the cattle began to 
lie down, and then I dismounted. The next 
thing it was daylight. I had gone sound 
asleep stretched on the prairie. 

Stiff, cold, and hungry, I looked about and 
found I was in a bowl-shaped depression and 
had about four or five hundred head of Bluett's 
steers and our own. Thank goodness, I had 
missed the Texan terrors. Immediately I rode 
to the highest point I could see in order to get 
a survey of the country and find my landmarks 
in the range of hills to the north. The cattle 
had run about seven miles. I worked the 
bunch back, and soon saw other men and stray 
bunches. By noon of that day we had gath- 
ered the main portion of the three herds into 
three separate bands, containing some from 
each herd. We went to work sorting or cut- 
ting out, and by supper-time we were pretty 
well cleaned up, although no one had counted 
them, and we therefore did not know what 
number we were out. 

Suddenly it flashed on me that I had not 
seen Flatteau, and, on inquiry, found that no 
one else had. I knew that he was a fairly 
good horseman, although not a cowboy. But 



238 Bucking the Sagebrush 

Riley was handicapped by being blind on one 
side, and I feared his rider had met with some 
mishap. It was too late to do much hunting 
that night, but I determined to start some one 
out in the morning. We were spared that 
trouble, however, as Flatteau and Riley turned 
up just before dark. 

Riley looked like the devil, but Flatteau was 
in a more than cheerful frame of mind. He 
was singing the Switzers Farewell, a song 
of which he was very fond. He had in his 
hand a bottle of whiskey and I think he had 
about a bottle inside. The world was rosy and 
his cares were few. I noticed that both he and 
Riley had a coating of mud about an inch thick 
all over, and that poor Riley's flanks were all 
cut up and bleeding. I saw then for the first 
time that Flatteau had on a pair of English 
spurs. That explained Riley's speed ; he had 
heretofore been accustomed to the punching 
of the blunt Mexican spur, but the sting of the 
sharp pointed rowel had taken him off his 
guard. Later on, Flatteau, under the influence 
of the Mormon whiskey, gave us a modest out- 
line of his adventures. In the first place, he 
insisted that at the drop of the flag Riley had 
started and run without a stop for about fifty 
miles. He swore he ran out of the thunder- 



A Wild Night 239 

storm, and if it had not been for Bear Lake, 
he would have been going still. He also in- 
formed us that they had fallen off of several 
high mountains and had floated a mile or so 
down a torrent, besides rolling into several 
coulees. The veneer of clay which stuck to 
both horse and rider seemed to confirm the last 
statement. At about sun-up he found himself 
close to a Mormon ranch on the shore of Bear 
Lake, and as both he and Riley seemed to 
have done a fairly good night's work, he decided 
to rest. Accordingly he had turned in on a 
haymow, and later, after having had something 
to eat, had taken the back trail. He did not 
leave, however, before he had hobnobbed suf- 
ficiently with the ranchman to learn that he 
had just returned from a trip to the town of 
Logan and had a demijohn of the native jig- 
water. Hence old Flatteau's elongated story 
and his rosy view of life. Xext day it was dif- 
ferent. Logan whiskey is made in Logan and 
that explains much. 

The ultimate results of the stampede were 
not as disastrous as might have been expected 
from a mix-up of this character ; no one was 
seriously hurt as far as I remember, although 
there were several nasty falls. We rot our 
respective brands finally cut out, and once 



240 Bucking the Sagebrush 

more set out on the road. The trail for a 
hundred miles, or until Green River is reached, 
is very hilly. It is nothing but a succession of 
divides between which the streams run almost 
all in a southerly direction, and we were crossing 
them at right angles. 

Every day brought its troubles of balky cattle 
or stalled wagon. The long journey was be- 
ginning to tell on the whole lot, cattle and 
horses, and, therefore, the hills seemed steeper 
and longer. One day I noticed a thing which 
convinced me that dumb brutes have some 
silent way of communicating with each other 
at a distance. Our leaders, about a hundred 
in number, had just passed over the top of a 
high ridge. When totally out of sight of the 
rest of the herd, which was lazily climbing the 
hill on the other side, the lead cattle were 
startled by coming suddenly on a bear that 
was in a clump of brush near a spring about 
four hundred yards from the summit. They 
lit out for all they were worth, but were rounded 
up at the foot of the hill, probably two miles 
from where they started. 

This whole thing happened out of sight of 
everybody except the two men who were riding 
on the point, but, nevertheless, every bunch 
that passed that spot did the same thing. The 



A Wild Night 241 

bear had vanished and the clump of brush was 
no different from hundreds they had passed, 
but something had warned them of danger, and 
they acted accordingly. How is it explained ? 

For some weeks we had been meeting, at in- 
tervals, wagon trains of immigrants. Some- 
times they would number as many as ten or 
twelve families. Most of them seemed to 
come from the States of Missouri and Arkan- 
sas. There were children of all sizes and both 
sexes, even babies in arms. Some of the fami- 
lies had a few head of horned stock, and I 
noticed chickens and ducks in one wagon. 
The children were like so many little Indians, 
and had about as much clothing, but all seemed 
healthy and happy. I had talks with some of 
the men and found that their intention was to 
keep going until cold weather came on and 
then they would halt. Although Oregon and 
Washington Territory seemed to be their des- 
tination in a vague way, they seemed rather in- 
different as to where they eventually wound 
up. 

I here stumbled over an infant industry 
which was nothing more or less than a factory 
for the making of genuine Swiss cheese. The 
proprietor was a Swiss, and had with him a 
small colony of his countrymen. They had 



242 Bucking the Sagebrush 

settled in a little secluded valley well off the 
travelled road, and had built houses and barns 
modelled after those of the mother country. 
The head of the colony owned a herd of a 
hundred and fifty milk cows or more, and was 
a little king. Flatteau made a mash on him, so 
we were shown all there was to be seen. 
There was a cellar dug in the side of a hill 
which was large enough to hold twenty or 
thirty tons of cheese, and we were told that 
between ten and twelve tons were then stowed 
away. During the summer, when the cows 
were giving the most milk, all hands turned in 
and made cheese, but along in October they 
would load up their wagons, of which there 
seemed to be quite a number, and haul the 
stuff down to Evanston, on the Union Pacific 
Railroad, south, about ioo miles distant by the 
road down Bear River. 

The proprietor told us that one firm in 
Chicago took all he made. His wagons 
brought back the supplies for the winter, 
with, I suppose, dress goods and trinkets for 
the women, and then, like the bears, nothing 
would be heard of them until spring opened. 
The settlement was evidently most prosper- 
ous, and I suppose the Chicago people were 
not losing money. They were all Mormons, 



A Wild Night 243 

by the by, although we were told there were 
no u polygs " among them. 

At last we came to the headwaters of 
Smith's Fork of Green River, and as we had 
to follow it down some distance, we were 
spared for awhile the everlasting loading and 
unloading of our wagon in order to get it over 
the high places. 

Rand took occasion here to make a nuisance 
of himself by accidentally blowing a hole in his 
anatomy and coming within an ace of putting 
me out of business at the same time. Some 
one had begun to take a Winchester carbine 
to pieces to clean it, but had omitted to empty 
the magazine. Rand tried to finish the job, 
but somehow the gun went off, and as the 
cartridge blew out it took off a part of his 
chest on the right side, and the bullet struck 
the ground about six inches from where I was 
kneeling in the very laudable occupation of 
washing my only undershirt. 

When I heard the report of the explosion I 
looked around and saw Rand stretched on the 
ground, dead, as I supposed, with a gaping 
wound in his chest. I ran to him and found 
he could swear, which he proceeded to do 
after he had recovered his breath, which had 
been knocked out of him. The skin was very 



244 Bucking the Sagebrush 

much powder burned and blackened, but after 
I had washed it I could not find any holes, 
although my impression was that the bullet 
had gone through him. Rand said he did not 
feel anything queer about his insides, and, as we 
could find no place in his back where anything 
came out, we diagnosed it as a superficial 
wound. 

Some one said that hops made a fine poul- 
tice, so we greased the place with lard from 
salt bacon and applied the poultice, but the 
tail of Flatteau's linen duster had to go to make 
the bag for the hops. After the excitement 
had subsided we investigated and found that 
the wound had been caused by the brass shell 
of the cartridge, which had been blown out of 
the magazine, and had scooped a furrow about 
two inches long out of his side, the force of 
the explosion doing the rest. Our surgical 
treatment was heroic but effective, and within 
a week he was practically well enough to work. 
The hop poultice drew out all the powder, and, 
no doubt, the poisonous effects of the brass in 
the wound. 

We found the bullet flattened against a 
rock just at my elbow as I knelt while wash- 
ing. I remembered afterward hearing the 
thud, but at the time it passed unnoticed. 



A Wild Night 245 

This goes to prove that Napoleon was right 
when he said it was a bad plan to wash soiled 
linen in public. 

For a week or so we had been annoyed 
considerably by Blanco's big leaders getting 
too close to our herd, and a narrow escape 
from another mix-up determined us to pull 
to one side at the first good opportunity and 
let him go ahead. This we did, and it was a 
great relief. 

The last trouble we had with his herd hap- 
pened on Fontenelle Creek. The trail led 
down from the high plateau to the creek bot- 
tom, alonor the ledore of a " \\oq- back." A 
" hog back " is a narrow ridge with steep sides 
leading from a high to a lower level. The 
bottom or meadow through which the stream 
ran was thickly covered with scrub willows 
and brush, and in places was very soft and 
miry. We had come safely through and had 
our herd pushed well away on the high bench 
beyond, for we by this time were on to the 
eccentricities of the longhorns and knew they 
were not to be depended upon. 

With two or three of the men I went back 
to help Blanco, as I felt sure he was going to 
have trouble orettinor down that rid^e. When 
I first saw his leaders they were half-way down 



246 Bucking the Sagebrush 

the declivity and seemed to be doing all right. 
Suddenly, as is always the case with cattle, 
they decided to take a short cut for the green 
grass and trees they saw below. I shall have 
to quote Mark Twain to describe what they 
looked like as they coasted down that boulder- 
strewn side of the hill at an angle of 45 . He 
describes the evolution by saying that the 
cattle came down with their tails hanging out 
between their teeth. If I wrote a chapter on 
the subject I could not give an idea of the 
effect as realistically. The minute they struck 
the brush, they scattered in all directions. 

We held them up, however, and everything 
seemed to be straightening out when I came 
on Blanco trying to pull a cow out of a mud 
hole. He had roped her about the horns and 
somehow had yanked her head so that he 
broke her neck. This seemed to drive him 
crazy. He sprang from his horse, threw his 
hat on the ground and began to jump on it, 
accompanying his actions with a line of oaths 
that I think he must have invented. When 
he looked up at me, the fire was jumping out 
of his eyes, and I expected any minute he 
would turn on me. He shook his fist at me 
and said that if the brush had grown on that 
creek for any good reason, he would have 



A Wild Night 



247 



accepted the fact with Christian resignation, 
but he knew that God Almighty had put it 
there for no other purpose than to worry him, 
etc. I vanished as soon as I could without 
wounding his feelings, as I felt that in his 
present mood he should be treated with the 
utmost consideration. I only saw him once 
or twice after that. His herd went on to the 
Sweetwater, where it was sold. 




CHAPTER XX 

SOME JOYS OF THE TRAIL 

THE next river of any size to cross was 
Green River, but by this time the water 
was getting low, and it was only a question of 
wading. We followed up the river on the 
east bank for about forty miles, until we 
came to what is known as the New Fork. 
We then turned to the eastward again. It 
was now well along in September and the 
weather was getting quite cool, in fact, cold at 
night. We found the change much to our 
liking, but about this time we put in a week of 
extreme discomfort. 

This is essentially an alkali country. Any 
one who crosses the continent on the Union 
Pacific Railroad can satisfy himself as to this 
fact by looking out of the car window any- 
where between Rock Springs and Evanston 
in Wyoming, but it is necessary to get off and 
travel on horseback to get the full benefit of 
its health-producing qualities. 

248 



Some Joys of the Trail 249 

Rain-storms in the region are rare, but quite 
frequently, along about equinoctial time, there 
comes a snow-storm which ends in sleet, and we 
were just lucky enough to encounter one of 
these. The snow began to fall during the day, 
and in less time than it takes to write it, the 
whole country had become a mass of sticky 
gumbo. They tell me Virginia clay is binding, 
but I '11 back Wyoming gumbo against glue. 
The travel grew worse and worse ; the wheels 
of the wagon becoming solid masses of mud. 
When the cook happened on the trunk of 
a big cottonwood tree lying near the bank 
of the river, he swung off and went into 
camp, sending the horse herder to tell us 
he could go no farther as the horses could 
not haul the wagon. 

The storm lasted three days and nights, but 
it was a week before we could move, and mean- 
time all we could do was shiver and swear. 
Everything became soaked after the first 
twenty-four hours, and we had no shelter 
for our blankets except the wagon sheet, and 
that was torn and burnt in so many places that 
it gave little protection. At times the snow 
and sleet came down so hard that unless you 
held something over your plate while eating, 
everything would be swimming in water. 



250 Bucking the Sagebrush 

To add to the suffering, we had not an extra 
set of underclothes in the outfit. There were 
no gloves, practically no stockings, and the toes 
of our boots gaped open where we had burned 
them at the camp-fire. There were two or 
three canvas overcoats, but they were passed 
from one to another as the men went on herd. 
All the comfort we had was from a rousing 
fire, which we kept going night and day. 

I was in a bad way, as the trouble with my 
"insides" had come back, and I also had a 
crop of Job's comforters, which prevented me 
from sitting down with any degree of comfort. 
This made it very awkward to ride. Alto- 
gether, I must have been in rather a desperate 
condition, but did not know it, and had it not 
been for the pain I should not have paid much 
attention to it. Luckily, the cattle showed 
very little disposition to wander far, as there 
was quite a lot of brush along the banks, 
which made a wind-break ; besides that, they 
also found difficulty in travelling in the mud. 

On New Fork we came to a camp which 
had only lately been abandoned, but which we 
saw was not made by a cow outfit nor an emi- 
grant or Indian. In fact, it had a suspicious 
look, especially as we knew this was a favorite 
retreat for horse thieves, road agents, and 



Some Joys of the Trail 251 

other gentry that wished to avoid the sheriff. 
Evidently, there were but four or five in the 
party, and they had no spare horses. Another 
thing also that went to prove that something 
was wrong was a piece of black cloth we 
found with places cut in for the eyes — in other 
words, a rough mask. 

From New Fork we crossed on to Big Sandy 
and had another set-to with a snow-storm, 
although not as bad as the first. It stopped 
us, and we put in our time killing a beef. We 
had cause to congratulate ourselves on this 
delay. Upon reaching the Big Sandy, Balch 
and myself were riding ahead to look up the 
trail. When we had gone four or five miles 
we came to a tent and corral standing some dis- 
tance back from the road. With a view to in- 
quiring the way, we rode up. The appearance 
on the outside was suggestive of something 
wrong and everything was deathly quiet. We 
dismounted and drew aside the flap of the 
tent. Upon looking inside we found three 
men and a boy, bound and gagged, lying out- 
stretched. We released them, and they told us 
they had been there in that condition for two 
days and a half without food or water and 
were in bad shape. They probably would have 
been in a worse one had they not been sure 



252 Bucking the Sagebrush 

of the coming of another man within a day or 
two. 

They told us they had been waked up at 
dawn three days before by five men pointing 
guns at them and inviting them to hold up 
their hands. The intruders then bound them 
and carried them into the brush, where they 
kept them all day. Just at nightfall they 
brought the captives back to the tent, gagged 
them, took all their blankets, saddles, and thir- 
teen head of horses. As the robbers explained 
it to the men in the tent, they had waited that 
day for the purpose of waylaying us. They 
had evidently mistaken our outfit for Bluett's, 
as they said they were expecting a herd from 
Oregon that had a fine bunch of horses which 
they intended to appropriate. Bluett did have 
some blooded mares, I believe, but I think 
they would have dropped our poor ponies in 
very short order. 

The hardship of cold nights now began 
to be felt in earnest, and we were driven to 
all sorts of expedients to make up for a lack 
of clothes. A flour sack got to be such a 
cause of trouble that we had to draw lots for 
our turn to get one when empty. These 
were made into bandages for the feet in de- 
fault of stockings, also for ear-muffs and 



Some Joys of the Trail 253 

gloves, or rather mittens, and for piecing our 
under-garments. There was not much sewing 
done, as we had but two or three needles, and 
very little thread. 

We were getting into pretty high altitudes 
without reckoning the season of the year. I 
think South Pass City is about six thousand 
feet, possibly more, therefore the temperature 
went below the freezing point every night. 
The question of fires was also one that fig- 
ured quite prominently. To the Eastern mind 
a camp always means a snug spot in the 
woods with plenty of shelter and underbrush 
handy to make a rousing fire. I have often 
listened to stories of roucrhino- it in the Maine 
woods, where, as far as I could see, the " rough- 
ing" meant wearing a flannel shirt and old 
clothes. On the trail it is different. 

In selecting a camp, water is the determin- 
ing factor. The question of comfort is not 
considered. The fuel is composed of buffalo 
chips or dead twigs from sagebrush, which, 
although making the best kind of fire for 
cooking purposes, has not that cheerful warm- 
ing quality supplied by pine boughs. Once in 
awhile, as on Green River, we found all the 
fire-wood we wanted, but nine out of ten 
camps found everybody hustling for fuel 



254 Bucking the Sagebrush 

Nothing can exceed the bleakness of a real 
cow camp if the weather is boisterous and 
cold. The only place to get warm is in the 
blankets, and then a bunkie is necessary, in 
order to get thoroughly thawed out. Before 
we reached South Pass City, where clothes 
could be obtained, we were like shipwrecked 
sailors, but, like them, we were tough and 
could stand the strain. 

South Pass City was unique in its way. 
Although it boasted of several hundred houses 
and shanties, the population numbered I think 
seven souls in all. A man named Smith, his 
wife, two children, two clerks, and the hired 
girl — a half-breed Arapahoe squaw — made up 
the number. Smith kept a general store and 
did a business that would have made Wana- 
maker tremble. South Pass City was born, 
grew up and died in about a year's time. Gold 
was the father and a fool-crowd the mother. 
I believe that this matrimonial alliance has 
been responsible for a large family of just such 
offspring. They outgrew their strength and 
died young. 

This particular corpse had turned up its 
toes four or five years previously after having 
(so said Smith) reached a stature of some- 
where between three and ten thousand inhab- 



Some Joys of the Trail 255 

itants. The only reliable way to get at the 
population of a mining camp is to count the 
saloons and multiply that by the number of 
patrons of any one you may select, and divide 
that by ten in order to allow for repeating. It 
is a dead sure proposition that every man and 
woman in that town goes into a bar once a day 
at least, and ten drinks per capita I should 
call very conservative. 

It gave rather a creepy sensation to walk 
about in the deserted streets and not hear a 
sound. The buildino-s remained, signs and all, 
just as they had been abandoned, and although 
I don't remember just how many rum shops 
we counted, I know that there were sufficient 
to back Smith's statement as to population. 
We had no difficulty about fire wood here. 
Whenever the pile got low we would go out 
and tear down a hotel or any other house that 
was handy. 

Our first care was to get some clothing, but 
as our funds were getting low, we felt a little 
diffidence about the size of our purchases, un- 
til we had explained the situation and were told 
by Mr. Smith to take anything we wanted in 
the store and send the pay for it when we got 
ready. We traded with him for several years 
after that and found it was not at all an un- 



256 Bucking the Sagebrush 

common thing for him to carry his credits for 
customers for a year, or until they had mar- 
keted their cattle. Of course, his price savored 
somewhat of Fifth Avenue and he therefore 
could give time. He told me he had never 
so far contracted a bad debt from a cow outfit, 
which speaks pretty well for their honesty — 
as far as storekeepers go ; when it comes to 
other matters we will not say so much. 

Although this is called a Pass, it would not 
be regarded as such by any one not accus- 
tomed to the size of the country. It is about 
seventy or eighty miles wide from north to 
south, lying between the Wind River Moun- 
tains on the north and the Wasatch range on 
the south. Here you find the dividing of the 
waters on the continent. At Pacific Springs, 
near this place, heads a stream that flows into 
the Pacific Ocean by way of Green River and 
the Rio Grande, and a mile to the east an- 
other stream starts that empties into the Gulf 
of Mexico by way of the Sweetwater, Platte, 
Missouri and Mississippi. I have taken a 
drink from both springs within a few minutes, 
just for the sake of saying I had done so. 

After crossing the divide, we came to the 
head of the Sweetwater River and followed it. 
The Sweetwater runs almost east and empties 



Some Joys of the Trail 257 

into the North Fork of the Platte River, near 
Independence Rock. This was the old trail 
used by the immigrants back in the forties on 
their way to Oregon. 

That reminds me that for nearly four months 
we had had the company of an old fellow, (he 
was sixty-five years old, I should say,) who had 
asked leave to join us on the trip across for 
the sake of the protection afforded by num- 
bers. He had an old tumble-down wagon and 
a pair of fairly good horses, and although al- 
ways camping by himself and some little dis- 
tance from us, he always fell into line when we 
moved. I often watched him cooking and I 
know that except when we would give him 
some fresh meat, his sole diet was coffee, ba- 
con and flapjacks, made in a frying-pan. We 
would have been very glad to give him any- 
thing he wanted, but he was as independent 
as a Sioux chief and would accept nothing 
unless he paid for it. 

We found he had made several journeys 
across this same trail from his original home 
in Missouri and was now going back for good. 
He had evidently survived all the members of 
his family. He told us that he had raised two 
families but that they had all gone. 

Near the three crossings of Sweetwater, 



258 Bucking the Sagebrush 

in a secluded spot among some high rocky 
buttes, he showed me a graveyard that had 
been started in the year '58 or '59 when 
cholera broke out among the immigrants on 
the trail, and he also pointed out the spot 
where he had buried his first wife and a 
daughter. They were travelling with a big 
wagon train when the scourge attacked them, 
and a large number died. The piles of stones 
remained almost as they were originally 
thrown together. I counted over a dozen 
mounds and the old man said that during that 
year the road could be traced by the new- 
made graves. He had married again and 
some children were born, but all died, I sup- 
pose from hardship and lack of medical 
attendance. 

When I was there it was a question of the 
survival of the fittest as far as children were 
concerned, and the condition twenty years 
prior to that time was even worse. I do not 
doubt that the story of this man's life was that 
of thousands of the pioneers of early days — 
one long fight against hardship and disease, 
the strongest and luckiest getting a foothold 
and accumulating some property, and the 
weaker either succumbing or drifting back to 
die in their old homes. But all, whether 



Some Joys of the Trail 



259 



weak or strong, did something toward open- 
ing the way for the less venturesome, and 
finally for the sewing machine agent, the 
lightning rod man, and the railroads. 




j£ - 



CHAPTER XXI 
COUNTING THE COST 

ONE morning from the top of a hill I caught 
sight of Laramie Peak, and then I began 
to feel that we were getting somewhere. Al- 
though the mountain was eighty miles north 
of our ranch, and probably as far, if not fur- 
ther, from where I stood, it seemed like home, 
because from our ranch the mountain could 
plainly be seen on any clear day. Like school 
boys at the end of a term, we now began to 
cross off days instead of weeks, although 
Laramie Peak at this end, just as Mount 
Hood at the other, seemed to stand still in 
spite of the fact that we were travelling toward 
it all the time. 

My luck as far as sickness went had been of 
the worst, and at this point I had what I 
supposed a quinsy sore throat. At all events, 
for seven or eight days I could hardly swallow, 
and my throat swelled up as though I had the 

260 



Counting the Cost 261 

mumps. One of the boys cauterized it on the 
inside by dipping an eagle's feather into a 
solution of blue vitriol and applying it, but 
that failed to afford relief. One night I woke 
up with a strangling sensation, and in trying 
to call out I must have ruptured the abscess, 
for the relief from pain was immediate, and 
after I had been thoroughly relieved from the 
discharge I began to eat, and I thought I 
never would get enough. Had I been at 
home and had an attack of that kind I should 
have had doctors and nurses galore, and, no 
doubt, would have been sent off to Europe to 
restore my shattered health. As it was, I 
went on herd duty the next night, because I 
felt so much better and had had several con- 
secutive nights in my blankets. 

We got into a mess with a gentleman by 
the name of Ferris, who had a hay claim on 
Sand Creek, and who turned out to be a 
sort of blackmailer. He watched for the un- 
wary drover who allowed his herd to trespass 
on what he called his hay meadow, and then 
demanded damages or else threatened "to 
have the law on yer." He had played the 
game successfully on several others, and 
would have caught us also had we not been 
warned by a neighbor of his, an old Irishman 



262 Bucking the Sagebrush 

named Foley, who did not approve of that 
mode of making a living. 

Foley had quite a large bunch of cattle 
of his own, which he sold the year follow- 
ing for about $100,000. He lived in a little 
cabin in the roughest way, and one evening 
Rand and I rode over to see him. While at 
supper we got news that the sheriff was on his 
way to arrest us, so we pulled out for the next 
county, only about ten miles distant, and there 
we waited for the outfit to overtake us. 

It was a cold night and we had nothing but 
our saddle blankets, but we managed to get a 
fire started and kept comfortable. Rand had 
his time-book with the accounts and credits of 
the men in the pocket of his coat, but somehow 
lost it during our hurried flight. It meant 
quite a lot as he had paid out $1,000 or so in 
wages and cash and had no other memorandum. 
We went all over the ground as near as we 
could, even running the risk of capture by the 
sheriff, trying to find it, but in vain, and no 
doubt would have had difficulty in straighten- 
ing things out at the end, had not one of 
Foley's men found it by accident and in a 
peculiar way. 

This cowboy was chasing some horses into 
the corral when his own slipped and fell, throw- 



Counting the Cost 263 

ing him quite a distance, but as he landed, his 
hand struck the book. He knew we had 
offered a reward of a hundred dollars to the 
finder, so he lost no time in notifying us and 
when we were ready to pay off the hands, the 
book had arrived. This probably was the 
luckiest tumble that man ever had. 

A few days' journey brought us to what is 
known as Shirley Basin, named after an old- 
time stockman called John Quincy Adams 
Shirley. It was then, and remained for several 
years afterwards, a great feeding ground for 
elk and black-tail deer. 

It hardly seems possible, but while we were 
coming along, not a day passed that we did 
not see bands of them, numbering from ten to 
two or three hundred, and not at all shy. The 
boys killed several while on herd as the elk 
came right up to the grazing cattle. One 
morning I had started ahead at daybreak and 
was riding back to camp about sun-up when I 
came to a steep bluff. I dismounted, led my 
horse, and on reaching the level of the top, I 
almost had an attack of buck fever. Within 
twenty feet of me stood a big buck and just 
beyond him a bunch of elk, which must have 
contained a hundred or more. 

There was quite a thick frost fog, and I was 



264 Bucking the Sagebrush 

to leeward, so the conditions were A i for a 
slaughter. I counted thirteen big bulls and not 
one of them was more than a hundred and fifty 
yards away. 

I made a jump for a .45-calibre Smith & 
Wesson revolver that I carried in a holster on 
my saddle and then lay down, so that my head 
was just showing, and I had a fine rest for my 
elbow. I just saw that big fellow dead at my 
feet, so certain was I of hitting him, but, alas ! 
the chamber opposite the trigger was empty 
and the cylinder would not revolve, owing to 
the rust I had allowed to get into the mech- 
anism. I did everything to move it and even 
jumped up and down in my rage. Finally, in 
desperation, I hurled the pistol at the elk and 
I believe I hit him. Even that did not seem 
to scare the bunch ; I suppose the fog made 
me indistinct. At all events, I had to shout 
and wave my hat before I could get them run- 
ning. I swore then that never again would I 
own a Smith & Wesson revolver, or any other 
that was not of the simplest kind, such as a 
Colt. My disappointment over losing that fine 
beast is acute even to this day. 

Two or three days after crossing the basin, 
one of my partners and I were riding along 
near a stream called the Little Medicine Bow, 



Counting the Cost 265 

when we discovered the fossil remains of an 
antediluvian animal. Our attention was at- 
tracted to it first because our horses flinched 
from what looked like sharp flint rocks. As 
there are practically no rocks in those parts, 
the soil being alkali or a decomposed sand- 
stone, this seemed singular. Then we saw 
what looked like a bone, except that it was 
about three feet long- and as bio- round as a 
man's leg. On investigation we found the 
vertebrae, which were about a foot thick and 
measured at least five feet from tip to tip of 
the ends of the ribs. One section was about all 
a man could lift. 

The bones, or their fossilized reproduction, 
covered a space about sixty feet long by twenty 
or thirty wide, and were on top of a high 
mound. As we could not carry around several 
hundred pounds of antediluvian animal just for 
fun, we contented ourselves with taking the 
bearings of the spot which we thought would 
enable us to find it again, but we never did. 

About two years afterwards I spoke about 
the matter to a prominent member of the U. S. 
Geological Survey while in Washington and 
gave him, as near as I could, a description of 
the locality, and I believe he sent some one up 
to try to find it, but without success. Not 



266 Bucking the Sagebrush 

long ago, however, I saw that the grave-dig- 
gers from the Smithsonian Institute had found 
something with a big name, in the region of 
Como Lake, in Wyoming. As my defunct 
specimen was not more than five miles from 
that spot, I believe it is the same body, and 
really belongs to me by right of discovery. I 
might have gone down in history with my name 
linked to the hind legs of a Dinosaur. 

We struck the Union Pacific Railroad at 
Wilcox, forty miles north of Laramie, and 
when I heard the sound of the whistle of an 
engine, I felt as though I were only a block or 
two away from Boston or New York. It was 
decided that I had better go on ahead to the 
ranch and notify our other partner that we 
were coming. One bright, clear morning, 
about the middle of October, I saddled up 
Coalie and headed for the home ranch, on 
the Little Laramie. My impulse was to go 
through that day, but my horse was pretty 
thin and I took it easy, stopping over night at 
a ranch, and arriving home early the follow- 
ing day. 

The herd came in three days later, and one 
week more saw the e;id. For a few days we 
turned the cattle into an upland pasture, which 
we had fenced in, and permitted them to wan- 




THE AUTHOR IN '78 



Counting the Cost 267 

der at will. Cattle, like human beings, are 
creatures of habit. Every morning at the 
usual time, the leaders, followed by most of 
the bunch, would march solemnly around the 
field close to the restraining fence. The same 
thing would happen, along towards evening 
only to a less extent. It took the leaders at 
least a week to realize that they had reached 
the end of their journey. 

The first thing we did was to give all crip- 
ples a doctoring and then pick out all animals 
whose brands were dim or blotched, in order 
to put a fresh one on. We found a good many 
that had no sign of our brand, but as they all 
showed signs of travel, we gave them the 
benefit of the doubt, and put our mark on 
them also. When this was finished we drove 
them off about ten or fifteen miles and scat- 
tered them out on several creek bottoms and 
left them to their fate. All through that win- 
ter we had men " line riding," which means 
that at stated intervals and always after a bad 
storm, men would go to leeward and drive 
them back as near as possible to where they 
had drifted from. 

The horses were a) c o doctored for sore 
backs, and those that were in the worst condi- 
tion were kept up to be fed hay. The best of 



268 Bucking the Sagebrush 

them were put in the barn for use, and the 
balance were turned loose. The men were 
then taken to town and paid off, except the 
four we decided to keep through the winter. 

We had been away eight months, and of 
this a large portion had been spent continu- 
ously in the saddle. It is impossible to reckon 
the distance travelled with any degree of accu- 
racy, but allowing an average of twenty-five 
miles a day, which I consider quite conserva- 
tive, for 1 20 days, would give us credit of 
3000 miles on horseback. We had traversed, 
allowing for the twists and turns of the trail, 
about 1 200 miles or at an average rate for the 
herd, ten miles per day. We lost two per 
cent, of our herd from straying and death, and 
it cost in the neighborhood of $2.70 per head 
to get them down. 

I have computed the distance made only 
from Pilot Rock to the home ranch, and the 
time that was actually consumed after we got 
regularly lined out on the trail. For two 
months prior to that, however, we had ridden 
over most of Umatilla, Union, and Wasco 
Counties in Oregon. I think without exag- 
geration, we can say that we had spent the 
most of the time in the saddle, and had ex- 
perienced about all the discomforts and anxie- 



Counting the Cost 269 

ties which tend to ruin the temper and warp 
the nature of the most angelic of men. We 
had had Indian scares, stampedes, sickness and 
death, lack of water, or else too much, lack of 
sleep, rest and food, intense heat and blinding 
dust, freezing weather and snow. Add to these 
the natural cussedness of men, horses and cat- 
tle, with the ever-present fear that all the profits 
in the undertaking would vanish at any time by 
the cattle drowning in a river, rushing over a 
precipice while stampeding, or by the less 
tragic and picturesque, but equally effica- 
cious way of dying from alkali poisoning, and 
you can realize something of the mental strain 
attendant on driving your own herd on the trail. 
Some persons contend that life of this kind is 
healthy. My opinion is that it takes the con- 
stitution of a jackass to pull a man through 
and if he survives, you can't kill him with an 
axe. I had the constitution, and so far have 
survived the axe. Since I gave up the busi- 
ness, about nine years ago, I find that the 
asphalt of a large city to range on, with Del- 
monico's or Sherry's for watering places, and 
any hotel on Fifth Avenue for a camping- 
ground suits me. Any one stuck on flannel 
shirts and camps in the Adirondacks can have 
them. 



270 Bucking the Sagebrush 

Then roll the drums slowly, 
And play the fifes lowly, 
Play the dead-march as you carry me on 
Take me to "Boot-Hill," 

And throw the sod over me, 
For I 'm a poor cowboy 

And I knows I done wrong. 



% 




■I TTi 



"TTolT 



/ALLA •/. 



» AP 



----- --TE TAKEN 






iE, OREGON 




OMING 



SKETCH MAP 

SHOWING THE ROUTE TAKEN 

FROM 

SCOTT'S BRIDGE, OREGON 

TO 

LARAMIE, WYOMING 




NOV 14 1904 










003 985 4363 




